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EMINENT LITERARY AND
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1835
V-
TABLE,
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL,
TO THE FIRST VOLUME OF
LIVES OF
EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF ITALY, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL.
DANTE ALEGHIERI.
A. D. Page
His Descent ... - 1
1265. His Birth - - . - 2
His Mother's Dream - - - 3
Brunette Latini - - - -4
Story of his early Love for Beatrice - - fl
1290. Her Death - - - -7
" Vita Nuova " ... 7
Uncertain Traditions concerning the early Part of Dante's Life 9
His Marriage with Madonna Gemma - 10
The Guelfs and Ghibelincs - 13
1289. The Battle of Campaldino - - 14
Dante serves in the Cavalry - - 14
Extract from his Inferno, Canto XXII., giving an Account, of
this Conflict . . - 15
He again takes the Field at the Siege of Caprona - - 15
Extract from the Inferno, Canto XXI. - 15
He is chosen chief Prior of his native City - 16
Origin of the Schism between the Bianchi and the Neri - 17
The Cerchi and the Donati - - 18
Banishment of the principal Instigators of the Neri and the
Bianchi . . .19
Dante suspected of favouring the Bianchi Party - - 20
He vindicates himself . .20
Entrance of Charles into Florence - - - 20
TheRecaloftheNeri - - 20
Six Hundred of the Bianchi driven into Exile - 21
Embassy of Dante to Rome . - 21
a
VI ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
A. D. Page
Boccaccio accuses him of Self-confidence and Disparagement of
others _ 21
Confiscation of Dante's Property - -22
His Banishment - - - - 22
He joins the Confederates of the Bianchi at Arezzo . 23
Their unfortunate Expedition against Florence . -23
Pietro Petracco . - - 23
Dante quits the Confederacy . 23
His personal Humiliation . - - 24
Extract from his " Purgatorio " - 24
1508. Henry of Luxembourg raised to the Throne of Germany - 26
Dante professes himself a Ghibeline - 26
1313. Henry of Luxembourg poisoned . 26
Dante dedicates his " De Monarchia " -26
He wanders from one petty Court to another - 27
Buspne da Gubbio affords him shelter at Arezzo - - 27
Anecdote of him while at Verona - - 28
Guido Novello da Polenta, Lord of Ravenna . 29
Mental Sufferings of Dante - SO
His Letter to a Friend who had obtained Leave for him to
return to his Country - • - 31
Extracts from his " Paradiso " - . -32
His Residence at Ravenna - • .32
1321. His Death . .33
A Copy of his " Divina Commedia " embellished by Michael
Angelo - - .34
Dante— his Tomb at Ravenna - . -35
Restoration of his Property to his Family - 35
The " De Monarchia " publicly burnt at Rome, by Order of the
Pope - 35
Description of Dante by Boccaccio - 36
Musical Talents of Dante - - - 37
Extract from his " Purgatorio " - 37
His two Sons the first Commentators - -39
Lyrics of Dante - - 41
Origin of the " Divina Commedia " - - 43
Observations on the Title of the " Divina Commedia " - 44
Extracts from the " Inferno " - 46
Strictures on it . - - 51
And on the " Inferno " - 53
PETRARCH.
1302. His Progenitors - - 61
Their Banishment from Florence - 61
1305. Petrarch and his Mother return from Banishment - 62
1312. They remove to Pisa - - $2
They proceed to Avignon - 62
1315. They quit this for Carpentras, where Petrarch becomes ac.
quainted with Settimo • - 63
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. Vli
A D. Page
1319. He enters the University of Montpelier - . 63
His Father destines him for the Law . .63
His Aversion to it • - - 64
1323. He goes to Bologna - -64
His Recal to France, on the Death of his Father ; he aban-
dons the Law - . .64
He resides with his Brother at Avignon ; he becomes a Fa-
vourite with the Nobles - . 65
His Person . . -65
His Friendship for John of Florence . 65
Giacomo Colonna ; his illustrious Descent - 66
His Friendship for Petrarch • - - 67
Character of Petrarch . -68
1327. (April 6th.) His Acquaintance with Laura - - 68
His Devotion to her - - 70
His poetic Life commences - 71
His Patriotism - - -72
1330. Giacomo Colonna made Bishop of Lombes; Petrarch accom-
panies him to his Bishoprick . -72
His Friendship for Lello and Louis - - - 72
1331. He makes the Tour of France, Flanders, and Brabant - 73
He meets with a Disappointment at Lyons . - 75
His Arrival at Rome - - - 76
(August 6th.) He returns to Avignon . .75
His Excursion to Mont VentouX - - - 76
His Letter to Father Dionisio Robertis - - 77
His Retirement to tlie Valley of Vaucluse . .78
A Description of it . .78
Version of one of Petrarch's Canzoni, by Lady Dacre - 80
Criticisms on Petrarch's Italian Poetry , &
Philip de Cabassoles, Bishop of Cavaillon, becomes the Intimate
of Petrarch - - 83
Letter of Petrarch to Giacomo Colonna - -84
1340. Petrarch receives Letters from Rome and Paris, inviting him
to accept the Crown of Poetry ; he accepts the former - 85
1341. His Reception at the Court of King Robert of Naples - 86
(April 17th.) His Coronation . , ' - 86
He leaves Rome and arrives at Parma - 87
He meet* Azzo Correggio - - 87
Death of Giacomo Colonna - - - 87
Early Death of Thomas of Messina - 87
Petrarch's Grief for the Loss of these Friends . -88
He and Rienzi sent on an Embassy t6 Rome, on the Accession
of Pope Clement VI. . 89
He meets Laura at Avignon - 8S
His Confidants • - - 90
'1343. Death of Robert, King of Naples - . .91
He is succeeded by his Daughter Giovanna - 9i
Mission of Petrarch to Queen Giovanna - QQ
a 2
Vlll ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
A. D. Page
1345. Nicola di Rienzi seizes upon the Government of Rome, and
assumes the Name of Tribune - - 92
Change produced by him in the State of the Country - 92
Petrarch offered a Bishoprick, which he refuses - 93
1347. He leaves Avignon, and repairs to Parma - - 94
Downfal of Rienzi - . -94
1348. The Plague in Italy - 94
(January 25th.) An Earthquake . 94
(April 6th.) Death of Laura . . -94
Petrarch's Account of it . 94
1350. Revisits Rome on Occasion of the Jubilee . - 98
Assassination of Giacomo da Carrara, Lord of Padua - 98
1351. Restitution of Petrarch's paternal Property . 99
Arrival of Petrarch at Avignon . - 100
His Letter to Pope Clement VI. on the Choice of a Physician . IOC
He revisits Vaucluse . . - IOC
1352. Death of Pope Clement VI. - 100
Petrarch visits the Carthusian Convent - 101
His Treatise " On Solitary Life " - 101
1353. He crosses the Alps, and visits Milan - 101
1354. Is invited by Charles, Emperor of Germany, to visit Mantua - 102
He exhorts Charles to deliver Italy - - - 102
1355. Petrarch at Milan - - 103
He is sent on two Missions — one to Venice, the other to Prague 103
1360. Invasion of France by the English . 103
Petrarch sent to congratulate King John on his Return from
Imprisonment - 103
He returns to Italy - - 104
His Letter to Settimo - 104
1361. Italy again visited by the Plague - 105
Death of Petrarch's Son -105
Marriage of Francesco, Daughter of Petrarch - 106
The Poetry of Dante and Petrarch compared - 106
" The Triumph of Death " - 107
Petrarch's Description of Laura's Death - 107
1S63. Boccaccio, his Attachment for Petrarch - 110
Leonzio Pilato's Death - 110
1367. Petrarch's Letter to Pope Urban V - 110
His Reply
1369. Petrarch suffers from Fever
1372. (January.) His Letter to, a Friend who had asked him, " how
he was » - H2
1374. His Opinion of the Decameron of Boccaccio
His Death
His Will
BOCCACCIO.
Origin of his Family ....
1313. His Birth . - • -116
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. JX
A. D. Page
1329. He enters on the Study of the Canonical Law - 117
1333. His Dislike for this Study - - - 117
He goes to Naples - - - 117
1338. He visits the Tomb of Virgil - - 118
A Description of it - 118
Boccaccio — his Admiration of it - - 119
1341. Another Circumstance occurs which confirms his Predilection
for Literature - - 120
Commencement of his Attachment for Lady Mary - - 121
Some Account of her • - 121
Her Person - - 122
His first Book, " Filocopo " - 123
The Story of it - - 123
His Style - - 124
1342. His Recal to Florence on the Death of his Father - 125
His " Ameto " - - 126
1344. He returns to Naples - - - 126
Death of King Robert - 126
Queen Jane and her Court - - 126
" Filostrato," of Boccaccio - - 126
His " Amorosa Fiammetta " and " Amorosa Visione " - 127
1348. He writes " The Decameron " - 127
The Preface - - - - 127
Description of the Plague in Florence - 128
Critique on the " Decameron " - 130
1497. Burning of the " Decameron " - 130
1527. The " Ventisettana " and '« Delphin" edition of the " De.
cameron " published - - 130
1350. Return of Boccaccio to Florence - - 131
His various Embassies ... 131
1351. He visits Petrarch at Padua - - 132
He is sent to Bohemia to Louis of Bavaria - - 133
1354. Again sent on a Mission to Avignon . - 133
His violent Party Feelings - 133
His Letter to Petrarch - - 133
Petrarch's Answer - - 13*
Boccaccio — his enthusiastic Love for the Study of the Ancients 135
His celebrated Copy of Dante - - 136
He visits Petrarch at Milan - 137
Moral Change in him - - 137
1361. A singular Circumstance occurs which achieves this moral Work 139
He communicates this Circumstance to Petrarch . - 140
Petrarch's Letter in Answer - 140
1363. Power and Influence of Acciajuolo, Seneschal of Naples - 142
He invites Boccaccio to his Palace - - 142
His unworthy Treatment of Boccaccio . 143
He removes from his Palace in consequence - 143
He returns to Florence . - 143
His Residence at Certaldo ,. . .144
a 3
X ANALYTICAL AND CHBONOLOGICAL TABLE.
A. D. Page
His Work, " De Casibus Virorum et Faerainarum Illustrium " - 145
1355. His Embassy to Pope Urban V. - - 145
He projects a Visit to Venice . -145
His Letter to Petrarch, whom he missed seeing \ - 145
1370. His Visit to Niccolo di Montefalcone, Abbot of the Carthusian
Monastery of San Stefano, in Calabria - 147
1372. He visits Naples - - 147
1373. He returns to his Retreat at Certaldo - 147
His Work on " The Genealogy of the Gods " 147
The Professorship for the Public Explanation of the " Divina
Commedie " conferred on him - - 148
1374. Petrarch's Death - . -149
Grief of Boccaccio . 149
1375. (December 21st.) Death of Boccaccio - 149
LORENZO DE' MEDICI.
Ficino, Pico Delia Mirandola, Politian, the Pulci, &c. - 151
1438. Platonic Doctrines in Italy - 151
Gemisthus Pletho . . 151
The Medicean Library founded by Cosmo - - 152
1464. His Death - . . -152
Lorenzo de' Medici succeeds to his Father's Wealth and Influence 152
1478. The Pazzi Conspiracy - 152
1479. Pope Sixtus VI. leagues all Italy against Florence - - 152
1480. Lorenzo de' Medici — his Firmness and Talents - -152
He induces the King of Naples to conclude a Treaty with
Florence - - 153
A Yearly Anniversary of Plato's Death instituted - 153
Lorenzo de' Medici — his Commentary on his first Sonnet - 155
Extract of a Translation of one of his Sonnets - - 156
His " Nencia da Barbarino " - 157
And another, " Canzoni Carnaleschi " - 157
His descriptive Poems - - 158
1492. His Death - - 159
MARSIGLIO FICINO.
1433. His Birth - - 159
He is adopted by Lorenzo de' Medici - 160
His " Platonic Institutions " - 160
His " Treatise on the Origin of the World " - 160
1468. He assumes the Clerical Profession - - 160
1475. He obtains the Cure of two Churches and Cathedral of Florence 160
1499. (October 1st.) His Death - 161
GIOVANNI PICO DELLA MIRANDOLA.
14G3. His Birth - . - 161
His Parentage • • - -161
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. XI
A. D. Page
He visits Rome - - 161
His 900 Propositions published - 162
1494. His Persecution and Death - - .162
ANGELO POLIZIANO.
1454. (July 24th.) His Birth - - 162
In Florence, he attracts the Attention of Lorenzo de' Medici - 163
He engages him as Tutor to his Children . 164
He obtains the Professorship of Greek and Latin in the Univer-
sity of Florence - - 165
1492. His Letter to Jacopo Antiquario - 165
Disasters which befell the Medici - - - 166
Politian's Monody on Lorenzo . . 166
1494. (September 24th.) Politian. — His Death . -167
BERNARDO PULCL
His Origin - . - -167
His Work* . . -167
LUCA PULCI.
His Works . . - .16?
LUIGI PULCL
Author of the " Morgante Maggiore " - -168
Critique on " Morgante Maggiore " - 168
The Family of the Heroes of Romance - - 169
Extract from the " Morgante Maggiore " - 171
The Subject of the Poem - - -172
CIECO DA FERRARA.
1509. Author of " Mambriano " - 179
BURCHIELLO.
1448. His Death
BOJARDO.
Matteo Maria Bojardo ; his Ancestors [". . 181
1434. His Birth . . 181
His Parents - - - - 181
His Education . . 181
1469. He is sent out as one of the Noblemen to welcome Frederic III.
to Ferrara - - - 181
a 4
XU ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
A. D. Page
1471. Borso, Marquess of Ferrara, created Duke
Bojardo accompanies him to Rome on his Investiture - 181
1472. Marriage of Bojardo to Taddea -182
1473. Bojardo selected by the Duke of Ercole to escort his Wife to
Ferrara - - - - - 182
1478. He is made Governor of Reggio
1494. His Death
His Lyrical Poetry - 182
His Classical Works - 182
An Extract from his " Orlando Innamorato" - - 183
BERNI.
Francesco Berni - - 188
His Birth - - 188
His early Life - - 188
The Vignaiuoli established at Rome by Oberto Strozzi - 188
1526. Rome plundered by the Colonna - 188
1536. (July 26th.) Death of Berni - - 189
Publication of his "Rifacimen to" - - -189
Alterations made by Berni in " Orlando Innamorato " - 192
His introductory Stanzas which he appended to each Canto - 193
His Person and Disposition . . 193
An Extract us a Specimen of his Humour - 194
Bernese Poetry - 195
ARIOSTO.
1474. (September 8th.) Ludovico Ariosto, his Birth . - 196
His Lineage - - .196
His early Studies - - 197
.Latin the universal Language of Writers - - 198
The Transmutation and Transfusion of the dead Languages
into modern Tongues - 199
Death of Ariosto's Father . - 199
His pecuniary Difficulties in consequence - 199
His filial and paternal Affection - - .200
His Brothers Gabriele and Galasso - . 200
His Sisters • ... 200
A Quotation from his second Satire, alluding to his Mother - 201
His Bagatelles . . . - - 202
He composes his " Orlando Furioso " . . 203
His Answer to Cardinal Bembo, who advises him to write it in
Latin ... .204
The Duke of Ferrara threatened with the Thunders of the
Vatican ... ... 204
Ariosto sent as Ambassador to Rome on this Occasion - - 205
Julius II. enters into a League with the Venetians - - 205
The Papal Forces defeated at Ravenna - - -205
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. Xlll
A. D. Page
The Capture and Dispersion of the Republican Squadron on the
River Po - - - 205
Ariosto, his gallant Conduct on this Occasion - - 205
His second Embassy to Rome - ... 206
His uncourteous Reception by the Pontiff ... 5206
Emperor Alfonso, his fruitless Negotiations with the implacable
Julius - - 207
And the perfidious Treatment he receives - - 207
The singular Manner in which he retaliates ... 207
1515. The first Edition of the '« Orlando Furioso" - - - 208
Succeeding Reprints and Variations of it - - - £08
1532. The last Edition . - 208
Ariosto refuses to accompany Cardinal Hippolito to his Bishopric 208
Their consequent Estrangement .... 209
A Story of Hippolito, his natural Brother, and a Lady to whom
they both paid their Addresses ; the infamous and unnatural
Conduct of the Cardinal - - - , - -209
Independence of Ariosto _ - - 210
Ease, Freedom, and Independence necessary to the Life of a
Poet - - 210
Letter of Ariosto to his Brother Alessandro - - 212
Ariosto enters the Service of Duke Alfonso ... 217
Discomforts and Mortifications of his precarious Circumstances 218
His Reasons for not taking Orders - - 219
Pope Leo X. issues a Bull in favour of the " Orlando Furioso " 219
"What Claims had Ariosto on the Bounty of Leo X. ? - - 220
Extracts from his Satires • 221
The Dignity and Ease he enjoys at the Court of Alfonso - 226
His Government of Graffagnana . . 226
His Rencontre with some of his uncouth Neighbours - • - 227
Baretti, his Version of this Anecdote - . - 228
Extract from his Satires - - . .229
He is invited to accept a third Embassy to Rome . - 230
His Answer to Bonaventura Pistolfo - 230
His Release from his Government - . .232
He perfects his " Orlando j " his Dramatic Works . - 232
A curious Anecdote of him when a Child ... 232
Remarks on his Writings . • . 234
1532. Ariosto, his last Illness - . - . - 234
Apocryphal Traditions of him - - . . 235
His Person - . . . 235
His Character - - - .236
His Sons - . . . .037
His Elegies, Sonnets, and Madrigals . . .5437
A Translation of one of his Sonnets - . . 238
Difficulty of translating his Works ... 239
English Versions of his " Orlando Furioso" - . 239
His Recitation - 340
Anecdote of him - .240
XIV ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
A. D. Page
His whimsical Peculiarities; his Habits - - -241
His Reveries - - - - . -242
His last Hours - • > . - »' - . -243
His Monument - - „ -244
Sketch of the Outline of the " Orlando Furioso " - - 245
Critical Remarks on it - • . : . - - 247
A Sequel and Imitation of it - . . . 250
MACHIAVELLI.
850. Origin of his Family . - . _ 256
1469. (February 3d.) His Birth ' J '" . . -257
His Parentage - . . -257
Nothing known of his Childhood and Education - - 257
PaulJovius - ,~-"s/a - "'*'» -257
1494. Machiavelli Secretary under Marcellus Virgil - - 257
1497. Florence agitated by the Prophet Salvanorola . - -258
Marcellus Virgil elected High Chancellor - „ - 258
1498. Machiavelli made Chancellor of the Second Court - - 258
Is Secretary of the Council of Ten - - .259
His Missions to various Sovereigns and States ... 259
1492. Italy convulsed by foreign Annies and domestic Quarrels - 259
Ludovico Sforza invites Charles VIII. of France into Italy, in-
stigating him to assert his Right to the Neapolitan Crown - 260
1493. Entrance of the French into Italy j causes great Commotion in
Florence ; the Overthrow and Exile of the Medicean Family 260
Italy overrun by Charles - ... 260
The Italian System of Warfare - - - - 260
1498. Death of Charles VIII. - -261
Louis XII. succeeds him ; his speedy Conquest of Milan - 261
1501. Pisa, under the Rule of Florence, repines at its Servitude ; they
implore Chatles to restore their Independence - - 261
1500. Pisa besieged by the Florentines - - - - 262
Machiavelli and Francesco della Caza employed by the Republic
as Envoys to the French Court ; curious Style of their In.
structions - - 262
They fail in their Object, and return to Italy - - 263
Machiavelli, his Mission to Crcsar Borgia - . - 263
Roderigo Borgia chosen Pope ; he assumes the Name of Alex-
ander VI. - - - 264
His Character - - 264
Cesar Borgia raised to the Rank of Cardinal j his Dislike to the
Church - . . . - 264
His Jealousy of his Brother, the Duke of Candia, whom he
causes to be waylaid and murdered ... 264
He abdicates the Cardinal's Hat, and obtains the Duchy of
Valence in France ... - 265
He determines to form the Principality in Italy - - 265
His Encroachments supported by an Alliance with Louis XII. 265
His Attack on Bologna . - - - 266
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. XV
A. D. Page
Revolt of his chief Condottieri - -266
Conspiracy of Magione « - 267
1502. Arrival of Machiavelli at Imola - - - 268
His Interview with Caesar Borgia - - 268
His Opinion of him - ... -268
Caesar Borgia, his Method of defending himself - - 269
His Policy - - 269
Paolo Orsino, his Arrival at Imola - - 269
Machiavelli, his Letter to the Signoria of Florence - - 269
His Conversation with Caesar Borgia - - 270
His Admiration of Borgia's Talents - - 271
Machiavelli solicits to be recalled - - - 271
Treaty between Caesar Borgia and the Confederates - - 271
Letter of Machiarelli on this Subject - - 272
Borgia leaves Imola - - 273
Machiavelli follows the Court to Cesena - - - 275
His Letter - - - - - 273
He again writes from Cesena - - 274
The Confederates sent to Sinigaglia - - - 275
Arrival of Borgia at Sinigaglia - - 275
He causes the Orsini and Vitellozzo to be taken Prisoners - 275
Machiavelli, his Account of this Transaction - - 275
His Letter - - 275
Treacherous and cruel Revenge of Borgia on the Confederates 276
(January 8th.) Machiavelli, his Letter to the Republic - - 277
1503. His Recal to Florence - - 278
His Description of the Method used by the Valentian Duke in
putting to death Vitellozzo Vitelli - - 278
The " Decenal " - - - 278
An Anecdote of Ca?sar Borgia - - 279
Narrow Escape of Caesar Borgia at Rome, it is supposed from
Poison - - .280
(August 28th.) Sudden Death of his Father, Pope Alexander - 281
Accession of Pope Pius III. - - -281
Fall of the Fortunes of Caesar Borgia - - 281
Machiavelli's Embassy to Rome to influence the Consultations
concerning the future Destination of Caesar Borgia - - 281
Julius II. - 281
Borgia sent to Romagna in the Name of the Holy See - .282
Cardinal Volterra sent after him with a Requisition ; Borgia re-
fuses to comply ; he is arrested in consequence, and sent on
board a French Galley - - - 283
He is brought back to the Vatican ; he is liberated - .283
He goes to Naples - - 283
He forms new Schemes, is again arrested, and confined in the
Fortress of Medina del Campo - ... 284
1506. His Escape and Death - - 284
1304. Machiavelli leaves Rome, and goes to France - - 284
Peace between France and Spain - -284
XVI ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
A. D. Page
1506. Formation of a native Militia in Florence - - -285
Pope Julius II., his Projects - - 285
The Florentines delegate Machiavelli to the Court Militant at
Rome j his Letters - - 285
1507. Francesco Vettori treats with the Emperor Maximilian at
Trent - - 286
1508. Machiavelli sent with -the Ultimatum of the Florentines to
Trent - - 286
On his Return, writes his " Account of Germany " • ^ - 286
1509. Pisa besieged by the Florentines - - - £86
Machiavelli sent to assist them . - - - 286
Enmity between Louis XII. and the Pope - 287
1510. Machiavelli, his Mission to Louis ; his Letters - - 287
His Audience with the King at-Blois - - -288
1511. Pietro Soderini elected Doge of Florence - - -288
Louis determines to dethrone him; Florence offers him Pisa
for it - - . - - 288
Terrified by the Menaces of the Pope, they send Machiavelli to
recal this Offer - - - - 288
Disastrous War, the Consequence - - - 289
1512. Diet of Mantua - - - - - 289
Overthrow of the existing Government of Florence - -289
Restoration of the Medici - » - .289
Machiavelli deprived of his Place - 291
Conspiracy against the Medici - 291
Machiavelli supposed, to be implicated ; is thrown into Prison
in consequence ...... ggj
He is included in an Amnesty of the new Pope, Leo X. - 291
1513. His Letter to Francesco Vettori ; his Liberation - . 291
Letter of Vettori to Machiavelli - - - - 292
His Letter in Reply - - - . - - 292
Vettori, his Endeavours in behalf of Machiavety - - 293
Machiavelli, his Letter to Vittori - - .294
Analysis of his Worfc called the "Prince "... 297
Machiavelian Policy - . - - - 300
His Essays on the first " Decade of Livy " - - - 304
His " Art of War " - - - - 304
His " Belfegor " . - - - ...304
His Comedies - - - 304
1514. His Letter to Vettori 305
1519. Address of Pope Leo X. to Machiavelli j his Advice . 306
Machiavelli, his Reply . - . - .306
Hjg " Essay on the Reform of the Government of Florence " - 306
1521. Machiavelli Ambassador to the Minor Friars at Carpi - 306
Letter of Francesco Guicciardini on his Appointment ; Machia-
velli, his Reply - . _ 307
1524. Cardinal Julius commissions him to write the History of
Florence . - . ... 307
1526. Cardinal Julius becomes Pope Clement VII. ; he makes Ma-
chiavelli his Historiographer . - . .308
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. XV11
A. D. Page
Deplorable State of Italy - - 308
Constable Bourbon at Milan - . - - 308
Machiavelli sent by the Pope to inspect the Fortifications at
Florence - - 309
1527. Arrival of Bourbon at Bologna - - - - 309
A Truce concluded between Clement VII. and Charles V. - 310
(6th of May.) Sack of Rome - - - 310
Machiavelli assists the Italians in relieving the Pope, who is
besieged in the Castcl Sant' Angelo - - . 310
He returns to Florence • ... 310
His Death - - . - - . - 311
His Wife and Children - - - - 311
His Person and Character -----_ 311
1782. Complete Edition of his Works published - - - 312
His Descendants - - ... .312
TABLE,
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL,
TO THE SECOND VOLUME OF
LIVES OF
EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF ITALY, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL.
GALILEO.
A. D. Page
156*. (15th of February.) His Birth - -1
His Ancestors ' - - - - - - - S
His early Years - 3
1581. A Scholar of Arts at the University of Pisa - - - 3
Studies Medicine under Andrew Caesalpinus - 3
His Work on the Hydrostatical Balance - - - 4
Guido Ubaldi engages him to investigate the Centre of Gravity
of solid Bodies - ... 4
Appointed Lecturer of Mathematics at the University of Pisa *
1600. Giordano Bruno burnt - - - - 4
Galileo attacks by Argument and Experiment the Aristotelian
Laws of Gravity - - 5
Opposition of the Aristotelians to his Discoveries - 6
A Method of clearing out the Harbour of Leghorn proposed
by Don Giovanni de' Medici - - 6
Galileo opposes this Opinion ; is persecuted in consequence - 6
1592. He obtains the Professorship of Mathematics at the University
of Padua - - 6
1593. Account of his Conversion to the Copernican System . 7
He meets with an Accident - - 9
He completes his first Engagement at Padua . .9
1598. Is re-elected other six Years - .... 9
Accusation brought against him with respect to Marina Gamba 10
1604. A new Star excites the Attention of Galileo . .10
1606. Again re-elected to the Professorship of Padua - .10
His increasing Popularity - - .10
XX ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
A- D- Page
His Examination of tne Properties of the Loadstone - - 10
1500. Doctor Gilbert's Work, the " De Magnete," published - 1 1
1603. His Death .... . 31
Cosmo proposes to Galileo to return to Pisa - - - 1 1
The Arrangements suggested by Galileo, and the Manner of
urging them - 12
Dutch Telescopes --.....13
Galileo constructs his first Telescope - - 13
Interest which the Telescope excited in Venice - 14
The Art of cleaning and polishing Lenses very imperfect - 15
Results of the Observations of Galileo on the Moon - - 16
His Examination of the fixed Stars . - 16
1610. The Satellites of Jupiter discovered by Galileo - - - 18
Galileo's Work, the " Sidereal Messenger," published - 18
Reception which these Discoveries met with from Kepler - 19
Horky ; his Work against the Discoveries of Galileo - - 20
Simon Mayer - ... . £1
Discovery of new Satellites - ... - 21
First Enigma of Galileo published . - - . - 28
His Observations on Saturn and Venus - . - 23
1611. His Reception at Rome ; he erects his Telescope in the Quirinal
Garden - ... 24
(March.) He discovers the Solar Spots - - - - 24
1610. Thomas Harriot discovers the Solar Spots (in December) - 25
Professor Scheiiier ; his Letters on the Subject of the Solar
Spots - 26
These Letters answered by Galileo - - - - 26
Facula; or Luculi discovered on the Sun's Disc, by Galileo - 26
His Observations on Saturn - - . - 27
The Subject of floating Bridges discussed - - - 28
Galileo " On Floating Bodies " - - 28
1613. His Letter to the Abbe CasteUi - - 31
Caccini attacks Galileo from the Pulpit . - 31
Luigi Maraffi apologises to Galileo for this Conduct - - 31
Galileo, his Letter to the Grand Duchess Christian - - 31
1615. (26th of February.) Galileo appears before the Inquisition - 31
He renounces his Opinions * 33
The Copernican System condemned by the Inquisition - 34
1616. Interview of Galileo with Pope Paul V. - - - - 34
Letter of Querenghi to the Cardinal D'Este - - - 84
Negotiations of Galileo with Spain - . - - 35
1618. Three Comets appear - - - - 36
1619. Discourse on Comets by Marco Guiducci - - - 36
" The Astronomical #nd Philosophical Balance "
1623. Galileo, his Work "II Saggiatore" - . - - 37
Accession of Cardinal Barberini to the papal Throne - .37
1624. Galileo, his Visit to Pope Urban VIII. - - - - 38
His Reception - - - - - - 38
1629. Death of Cosmo - - . - 39
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. XXI
A, D. Page
Pecuniary Difficulties of Galileo - - - - 39
1630. "Work of Galileo demonstrating the Copernican System - 41
1632. " The System of the World of Galileo Galilei" - -42
Influence of this Work on the public Mind - - - 43
Galileo summoned to appear before the Inquisition - -44
1633. (14th of February.) He arrives at Rome - - 45
Is visited by Cardinal Barberini ; his Kindness to him - 4ri
Trial of Galileo - - - - 47
(22d of June.) His Sentence ... -48
His Abjuration - - - - - 49
What Excuse is there for his Humiliation and Abjuration ? - 50
Imprisonment of Galileo - - - -52
He leaves Rome - . . . . - - 52
He returns to Arcetri - - «• - - 52
Death of his Daughter .. . - - - -53
His Indisposition and Melancholy - - -53
1638. He obtains Permission of the Pope to return to Florence - 53
Continued Kindness of the Grand Duke of Tuscany for him - 54
His " Dialogues on Local Motion " .54
Discovery of the Moon's Libration - • - 55
1637. Blindness of Galileo - .... 56
He is visited by a Number of Strangers . - - 58
1642. (8th of January.) His Death 58
His Epitaph and Monument - . . . . <j5
His House - - 60
His domestic Character - - - . , - 60
His Person - . . . . .60
His scientific Character - - - 61
GUICCIARDINI.
1482. (6th of March.) His Birth . . . 63
His Parentage - . • . - 63
His Education - - - . . .64
He obtains the Degree of Doctor of Laws . - 64
His Marriage - ... 64
Sent as Ambassador, by the Republic, to Ferdinand King of
Aragon . . .65
He returns home - - . - - 65
Leo X. visits Florence - - . - 65
Guicciardini sent to receive him at Cortona - - 65
He makes him Governor of Reggio and Modena . -'66
Death of Leo - - - . • 66
Guicciardini, his memorable Defence of Parma . .66
Made President of Romagna - - _ - 67
His Administration - - . - - 67
Made Lieutenant-general of the Pontifical Army - - 67
The Power of the Medici becomes odious in Florence . 67
Dangers to which Clement VII, IB e*i*oced . .67
b
XX11 ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
A. D. Page
The Palace of Government seized by the younger Nobility - 67
Frederigoda Bozzole sentto treat for it - - 68
Guicciardini, his Zeal in the Cause of the Medici - - 69
Reconciliation between Charles V. and Pope Clement VII. - 69
Their united Arms turned against Florence - - - 69
Second Restoration of the Medici - - 70
Overthrow of the Liberties of Florence - - 70
The Office of Gonfaloniere established - - - 70
Alessandro de' Medici named Duke - - - 70
His disgraceful Birth - . . -70
His Vices - . . . .71
Guicciardini resigns the Government of Romagna - - 71
Murder of the Duke Alexander by Lorenaino de' Medici - 72
Cosmo raised to the supreme Power - - - 72
Guicciardini retires to his Country Seat at Montici - - 72
1540. (27th of May.) His Death - - . 74
VITTORIA COLONNA.
Women who aspired to literary Fame in Italy r. -76
1465. Cassandra Fidele born ; Politian's Letter to her - - 76
1490. Vittoria Colonna, her Parentage - - - 77
Her Marriage with the Marquess of Pescara • 77
Pescara made General of the Army at Ravenna - 77
His Testimony of Affection to his Wife . - 77
Her Answer - - » • -"-78
Death of Pescara - - - - 78
Vittoria Colonna, her Grief in consequence - -79
Her Poetry - - - - 80
Her Friendship for Cardinal Pole and Michael Angelo - 81
1547. Her Death - - - - - 81
GUARINI.
1537. His Birth - . - - - 82
Little known of his early Life - - 82
His Marriage - - - - - - 82
1565. His Embassy to Venice to congratulate the new Doge, Pietro
Loredano - - 83
1571. His Embassy to Rome to pay Homage to Gregory XIII. - 83
1573. His Mission to Poland to congratulate Henry of Valois on his
Accession - - - - - 83
On his Return made Chancellor and Secretary of State
His second Visit to Poland - - 83
1575. (25th of November). His Letter to his Wife during his Journey 83
His " Pastor Fido " - . - - - 87
His Quarrel with Tasso - - 87
1582. He requests his Dismissal from the Duke ; he retires to his
Villa - .... - 88
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. XXili
A. D. Page
1585. His " Pastor Fido " acted at Turin - - - 91
1586. Guarini returns to his Post at Court ; is made Secretary of State 92
His Missions to Umbria and Milan - - - 92
His Quarrel with his Son - - - SJ2
1590. He leaves the Court of Alfonso and goes to that of Savoy - 93
• 'He leaves Savoy, and goes to Padua . . - 93
1591. He loses his Wife - . . . . 93
His Letter to Cardinal Gonzaga - - - .93
His Visit to Urbino - - - - - 94
He retires to Ferrara, deputed by the Citizens to congratulate
Paul Usur - - - - - .95
1608. Nuptials of Gonzaga and Marguerite of Savoy - -95
1612. (7th of October.) His Death - - - 95
TORQUATO TASSO, SON OF BERNARDO TASSO.
Their Ancestors - - 98
1493. Bernardo Tasso appointed Secretary of State to FerranteSanse-
verino, Prince of Salerno - - 99
His Marriage with Portia Rossi - - - 100
1544. (llth of March.) Torquato Tasso, his Birth - - -101
Bernardo Tasso joins his Patron in the War - - - 102
Infancy of Torquato - 103
Return of Bernardo from the War - - - - 103
1552. The Prince of Salerno and his Adherents declared Rebels - 104
Bernardo, his Exile - - - - - 104
Torquato Tasso, his Separation from his Mother; Lines written
by him on this Occasion ^ ... 105
He and Cowper compared - - - 107
1556. Death of his Mother - - 108
Torquato Tasso at Rome with his Father - - 108
Is implicated in his reputed Treason - - 109
His Letter to Vittoria Colon na on the Marriage of his Sister
Cornelia - - - 110
Letter of Bernardo to his Daughter ... HO
Bernardo flies to Ravenna - - - -111
He is invited to Pesaro - - - - 111
Vicissitudes of Bernardo Tasso - - -112
Torquato Tasso, bis Studies - - - 114
Boileau - - - - - 115
" Joan of Arc " . . - - 117
" Curiosities of Literature " . 118
Torquato translates his Father's Poems and Letters . - 118
" Amadigi " - - 119
Torquato Tasso studies Jurisprudence at Padua - . 122
His " Rinaldo " - - - 122
Epic Poetry - . 125
" Gerusalemme Liberata " - 126
Torquato leaves the Study of the Law, and repairs to Bologna 127
He returns to Padua and establishes the Degli Eterei - .128
b2
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
A, D. Page
His " Discourses on Heroic Poetry " . - 130
1564. He visits his Father at Mantua - . - 130
His Illness - - - - - 131
1569. Bernardo Tasso, his Death - . . - 131
Torquato Tasso appointed one of the personal Attendants of
Cardinal D'Este - - - - 131
Zoilus - - - - 131
1565. Torquato Tasso at Ferrara, in the Service of Cardinal Luigi - 132
Marriage of Alfonso Duke of Ferrara . - -132
Death of Pope Pius IV. - - 133
Torquato becomes acquainted with Lucretia and Leonora of
Este - - - - - - 133
A quotation from his " Aminta " • 134
1568. Marriage of the Princess Anna of Este with the Duke of
Guise - - - - - 136
Marriage of Lucretia D'Este with the Prince of Urbino . 136
Torquato Tasso accompanies the Cardinal Luigi, as Legate, to
the Court of France - - 138
Two or three Anecdotes related of him « - -139
1572. Arrival of Tasso at Rome - - - - HO
His Reception by Pope Pius V. - - 140
Admitted into the Service of the Duke Alfonso . - 140
His "Aminta" - - - .141
His " Torindo " and " Torrismondo " - - 143
His Illness ... .144
His Escape to Rome, with the Duke Alfonso's Consent - 146
He returns to Ferrara - - ... 146
An Incident occurs to him which establishes him a Hero - 147
His Malady - - 148
Is confined as a Lunatic by the Duke Alfonso - - 148
Efforts of the Duke to calm his Mind - - - H'J
His Love for the Princess Leonora - - -149
He visits his Sister - • - 150
1579. Committed as a Lunatic to St Anne's Hospital - - 152
His Letter to Scipio Gonzaga - . 152
1581. Death of the Princess Leonora - - - 156
Its Effect on Tasso * - - - - 156
1586. Liberation of Tasso . . -157
His Controversy with the Delia Cruscan Academy - - 158
His last Work, " Sette Giornate " - - .158
He recovers his Mother's Dowry - - 158
The Pope grants him a Pension - . 158
Manso, his Account of his Interview with Tasso during the
Time he supposed he was visited by a Spirit - - 159
1594. (25th of April.) Death of Tasso - - - -161
His Works - - - . - 161
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. XXV
CHIABRERA.
A. D. Page
1552. His Birth - • - - - 153
His Parentage J63
His Childhood - . . 163
Enters the Service of Cardinal Comaro Camerlingo . - 164
His disastrous Residence at Rome - - . 163
His Studies - - - - - 164
His Style - - 165
His Elegiac Poems - - 166
A Quotation from Wordsworth's Translation - . 166
Generous Overtures of Charles Emanuel ... 167
He refuses ... . 168
1637. His Death - - - . . 168
TASSONI.
1565. His Birth . . . . . 169
His early Life . - - - -169
1585. Obtains the Degree of Doctor of Laws at the University of
Bologna - - -169
1:S7. Visits Rome ; enters the Service of Cardinal Colonna ; sent by
him to obtain Permission of Pope Clement VIII. to accept
the Viceroyalty of Aragon ; his Success - - - 170
1622. His Works - - . . - 171
1635. His Death . - - - - 173
MAR1NL
1569. (18th of October.) His Birth - - 174
He opposes his Father's Wishes to become a Lawyer; he
turns him out in consequence .... 174
1589. Publishes his " Canzoni de' Baci "- - - 174
Concerned in some youthful Scrapes - * 175
Accompanies Cardinal Aldobrandini to Turin - - 175
His literary Quarrels 175
Marini publishes his Poem on the Murder of the Innocents - 176
He accepts the Invitation of Marguerite of France - - 176
Her Death before his Arrival - - . -176
Is received by Mary de' Medici - - 176
1623. He publishes his " Adone " - - 177
He returns to Rome ... - 178
1625. (25th of March.) His Death - - . 179
FILICAJA.
1642. (30th of December.) His Birth 180
His Parentage - . - . 180
His Education .... . 180
His Marriage - - - - - 181
His Odes . • • . . -.181
XXVI ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
A. D. Page
Kindness and Liberality of Christina of Sweden to Filicaja - 182
He is appointed Governor of Volterra - - 182
His Return to Florence; his Character} his "Ode to the
Virgin " - - - - - - 183
1717. His Death - - - - - - 184
METASTASIO.
His obscure Origin - - - 185
169a (13th of January.) His Birth ; his Name - - - 185
His Adoption by Vincenzo Gravina - - - 185
His first Tragedy, " Giustino " - - 186
His Letter to Algarotti - - - - 187
His Letter to Don Saverio Mattel - - - 188
Death of his adopted Father Gravina - - 189
His Studies . - - ' - - 189
His Imprudence - - 189
Commences the Study of the Law at Naples - - 190
He composes his " Orti Esperidi " - - 190
He quits his Legal Studies . - 191
And resides at the House of the Prima Donna Marianna
Bulgarelli - - - - - - - 191
He studies Music - - 192
1594. Operatic Dramas first introduced at Florence - - - 192
1724. Metastasio composes his " Didone Abbandonato ; " also his
" Siroe " - - - - - - 192
He accompanies the Prima Donna to Rome - - -193
1727. He writes his Drama of " Cato " - 193
1729. He is invited to become the Court Poet of Vienna - 193
Apostolo Zeno - - 194
1730. Metastasio fulfils his Engagement to the Roman Theatre -194
He enters on his Employments at Vienna; Success of his Dramas 191
Becomes Treasurer of the Province of Cosenza, in Naples - 195
His Letters to Marianna Bulgarelli - - 196
1733. Her Death - - ... 193
Metastasio's Letters to his Brother on her Death - - 198
His Style - - . - - - 200
His " Attilio Regulo " - . 201
" Themistocles " and " Olimpiade : " his Dramas - - 202
His Canzonetti - - 203
1740. Death of the Emperor Charles VI. - 203
1745. Francis I. elected Emperor - - - 204
Several European Sovereigns invite Metastasio to their Court . 204
His Malady .... - 204
His Letters ... - - 205
His Letter to his Brother on the Death of his Father - - 205
1770. Death of his Brother Leopold - -208
1737. Farinelli - . - - - - 208
174(5. Death of Philip V. of Spain . - 209
17C3. Accession of Charles II L - - - 209
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. XXV11
A. D. Page
Physical Sufferings of Metastasio - - £09
Death of the Empress Maria Theresa ... 209
1772. Doctor Burney's Account of Mctastasio - - - 210
1782. (12th of April.) Death of Metastasio - - - - 211
GOLDONL
1707. His Birth - - - - - -213
His Origin - . . 213
1712. Death of his Grandfather ; Pecuniary Difficulties of his Family - 214
Education of Goldoni - - 215
His Departure with his Family from Perugia - - 216
Carlo Goldoni studies at Rimini - ... 216
His Parents embark for Chiozza - - - - 216
Description of Chiozza ... . 216
Goldoni escapes from Rimini • - 217
He arrives at Chiozza - .... 218
He studies the Law under his Uncle, at Venice - - 219
1723. His Success at the University of Pavia - - 220
His Expulsion, and the Cause of it - - - 221
Returns to his Parents - .... 221
He pursues his Legal Studies at Modena - - - 222
He determines to become a Monk - - - 223
Prudent Conduct of his Parents on this Occasion - - 223
Goldoni becomes Coadjutor to the Chancellor of Feltri - - 224
He falls in Love - . . - -224
17S1. He joins his Father at Ravenna - - - 225
Death of the elder Goldoni - - . - 225
Goldoni enters the Profession of Barrister, at Venice - - 225
An Incident occurs which destroys his Prospects - - 226
His Tragedy of " Amalassunta " - - - 228
Its Fate - . • - - - - .229
Buonafede Vitali - - - . 229
1733. Siege of Milan - - - . £30
Journey of Goldoni to Modena .... 230
Disasters which he met with . ... 231
1734. His " Belisarius " acted at Vienna - - - 232
Good Fortune which he meets with at Genoa - 233
His Marriage ... . . .233
He attempts to reform the Italian Theatre ... 233
The old Comedy of Italy - . - . -234
Goldoni obtains the Genoese Consulship at Venice . . 235
He meets with a Ragusan Adventurer . - £35
1741. His Play on the Subject . . -235
His Life at Rimini - - .. -236
His Journey to Cattolica, and the Misfortune that befel him - 237
He becomes a Pleader at the Pisan Bar . . 288
His Comedies - - . 238
His Style . . £39
The Plot of his " Donne Purftigliose • • - - 240
b4
XXViii ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
A. D. Page
Story of the " Donna Prudente " - 241
His " Pettegollezzi " - 241
The Subject of " Villeggiatura " and the " Smanie della Vil-
leggiatura - - - 242
His other Comedies - - - 243
1760. He receives an Offer from the French Court - - 245
1761. His Debut as an Author in the French Capital - - 246
1792. His Death - - - 246
ALF1ERL
The Italian Poets of the early Ages - - 247
1749. (17th of January.) Birth of Vittorio Al fieri - -250
His noble Origin - - - - 250
His Childhood - - - 251
His Education - - 252
Account of the Academy of Turin - - -252
System of Education - - 253
Effect of Music on the Mind of Alfieri - - 255
Circumstances of his Life altered by the Death of his Uncle - 256
1763. Change of his Situation in College - - 256
Effect of this on his Conduct - - 256
His Extravagance - - _- . . - 257
His Confinement - - - 257
1764. His Liberation on the Marriage of his Sister Julia - 258
His Return to College . 259
1765. His Journey to Genoa - . - 259
1766. He enters the Provincial Army of Asti - 260
His dislike of Military Discipline; he obtains Leave of Ab-
sence - 2SO
His Tour - •- - -261
His second Leave of Absence ; his second Tout - - 265
His first Entrance into Paris - - 265
His enthusiastic Feelings on visiting England - - 266
He returns to Turin, and resides with his Sister - - 267
1769. He takes another Tour f - 1>» i; : -268
His second Visit to England ; his Love Adventure -, - 269
He returns to Paris - - 271
His Quarrel with his Servant . . 271
1772. Returns to Turin, and becomes a Cavaliere Servente - 272
1774. He determines to break off this disgraceful Intercourse - 274
His first Attempt at Composition - 274
1777. He enters into an Engagement with the Public to write
Tragedies . . - 276
He visits Siena ; his Friendship with Francesco Gqri - 278
He visits Florence - - - 279
His Attachment for Louisa de Stolberg, Countess of Albany - 280
He makes a Donation of his Property to his Sister Julia - 280
The dibtinguishing Marks of his Dramas • . 282
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. XXIX
A. D. Page
Distinction between Shakspeare and other Dramatic Writers - 283
Alfieri, his Tragedy of " Philip," its Subject - 284
He continues the Amico di Casa of the Countess of Albany . 286
Cruel Conduct of her Husband - - 286
She is separated from him • 286
Alfieri at Rome with the Countess - - - 287
1782. He completes his fourteen Tragedies . -288
His Intercourse with the Countess of Albany begins to excite
Censure .... 289
He goes into voluntary Exile in consequence of his Sufferings - 290
1783. He visits England to purchase Horses - 290
He returns to Italy - .291
His Visit to the Countess of Albany at Alsatia - .291
He composes his " Agis," " Sofonisba," and " Mirra " . 291
Death of his Friend Gori - - 292
Returns to Siena - - - 292
Countess of Albany visits Paris ... 293
She goes to Baden, where she is joined by Alfieri - - 293
Residence of Alfieri at Colmar - - 293
1787. His Illness ; visited by his Friend the Abbate Caluso - 293
The Countess at Paris ; Alfieri joins her - -293
Death of her Husband - - -294
Corrected Editions of AVfieri's Tragedies . - 294
1790. His Translation of the Comedies of Terence - - 294
His Treatise on " Princes and Literature ; " Critique on his
Style - . - - 295
1791. He accompanies the Countess of Albany to England - 296
They return to Paris - - - 296
1792. (10th of August.) The French Revolution - - 296
Imprisonment of Louis XVI. - - 296
Departure of the Countess and Alfieri from Paris ; their Fur-
niture, Horses, and Books confiscated - - 297
They return to Florence ... 297
The Tragedy of " Saul " acted, Alfieri performing the Part of
the King . -298
He studies the Greek Language - - - 299
Invasion of Italy by the French - -299
Alfieri and the Countess leave Florence - - 299
French driven from Tuscany - 299
Second Invasion of the French ; Effect of these political Events
on the Mind of Alfieri - - - 300
1803- (8th of October.) His Death - - .301
His Tomb - - - - -301
MONTI.
Arcadian Poetry . . . .303
1754. (19th of February.) His Birth . ... 305
His Parentage - • . .305
XXX ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
A. D. Page
Italian Farmers • - - - 305
Early Boyhood of Monti - -306
Anecdote of him . . 306
His Studies at Faenza - - -307
Destined by his Father to Agricultural Labour; his Dislike of
this Occupation - 307
Ineffectual Attempts of his Father to overcome this - 308
His first Italian Poem ; he adopts Alighieri as his Model - 308
His " Vision of Ezekiel" - - 308
Cardinal Borghese takes Monti under his Protection j he
accompanies the Cardinal to Rome . 309
1780. The Arcadians of the Bosco Parrasio celebrate the Quiuquenalli
of Pius VI. . 309
Monti made Secretary to the Duke of Braschi - 309
His want of political Integrity - 310
His Ode on the Marriage of the Duke of Braschi - 311
1779. His Ambition excited by the Emulation inspired by Alfieri - 311
1 787. His " Aristodemo " acted at Rome with great Success - 312
Plot of this Tragedy - - .312
Marriage of Monti - . - 313
Hugh Basseville - - - 314
Sent by the French to spread their Revolutionary Tenets
beyond the Alps . 314
His History of the French Revolution . - 315
1793. His Assassination - . . 315
(January 19th.) Louis XVI. beheaded - . 315
Monti, his Poem, the "Basvilliana " - . 315
His Poem on the French Revolution . - -316
His Plagiarism - - - 316
Spread of French Republicanism - 317
Defeat of the Austrians ... 217
1797. (January 3d.) Cisalpine Republic erected - 318
Monti meets General Marmont at Rome . - 318
He proceeds with him to Florence . - 818
Monti, his Admiration of Napoleon . - 318
/Made Secretary of Foreign Affairs at Milan - 319
He suffers Persecution .. 319
A Law passed by the Cisalpine Republic - 319
Monti loses his Situation in consequence . - 319
His " Musogonia " . - • -319
Subject of his Poem entitled " Prometeo " . 3S20
He obtains the Professor's Chair of Belles Lettres in Brera - 321
1799. SuvarofF and the Austrians drive the French from Italy - 321
End of the Italian Republics . - 321
Deplorable Destitution of Monti during his Exile - - 321
Goes to Paris on the Invitation of Mareschalchi - - 322
He composes a Hymn and an Ode on the Victory of Marengo - 322
He returns to Italy . - - - 323
His Poem, the " Mascheroniana," - - - 323
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. XXXI
A..D. Page
His Tragedy, " Caius Gracchus " • • - 3to
1802. The Cisalpine Congress meet at Lyons - • 326
Bonaparte made President - - 326
Monti, his Ode to Napoleon in the Name of the Congress - 326
He obtains a Professorship at Pavia - - 327
Goes to Milan, where a Number of Offices are conferred on him 327
180& Napoleon crowned King of Italy - - 327
Monti commanded to celebrate the Event - - 327
He composes his " II Benificio " - 328
His " Spada di Federico " .. » - . 329
His " Palingenesi " ... 329
His " Jerogamia " - 331
Remarks on " the Winged Horse of Arsinoe " . 332
Translation of the Iliad - - - 332
Visconti, his Praise of Monti's Iliad . 333
1814. Overthrow of Napoleon - - 333
Monti loses all his public Employments - 333
Pensions bestowed on him by the Emperor of Austria - - 333
He composes the " Mistico Omaggio " 3S4
His other Works - - -335
1812. Marriage of his Daughter - 335
Her Poem " On a Rose " 335
The Delia Crusca Controversy ... 335
Different Dialects of Italy - - .336
Bocca Romana - - - 337
Florentine Dialect - - . .337
Dispute of Monti with the Tuscans . - 338
Extracts from his Letters to his Friend Mustoxidi - » 338
Monti resides at Milan - - - 340
Beauty of his Recitation . S41
Extract of his Letters to a Friend on the Classic and Romantic
Schools - - 341
1821—1822. Monti resides with his Daughter and Son-in-law, at
Pesaro - - - .543
1821. Monti, his Letter to his Wife - ... 343
Another Letter to his Wife - 344
1822. His Letter, giving a Picture of Italian Manners - - 345
His Visit to Pesaro on the Death of his Son-in-law - - 347
His Letter to his Friend Mustoxidi - - 347
1823. His Illness - - 348
1828. (13th of October.) His Death - - - 350
His Character - - .850
His Person - . - - 351
UGO FOSCOLO.
1778. His Birth - . . -354
His Origin - - . - 354
The Ionian Islands - - 355
XXX11 ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
A. D. Page
Foscolo studies at Padua under Cesarotti - 355
1797. His Tragedy of " Thyestes " represented at Venice - - 357
Foscolo becomes a voluntary Exile • 357
His " Letters of Jacopo Ortis " - 357
His Opinion of Bonaparte - . .359
He visits Tuscany . 360
And Florence - • - - - 360
He goes to Milan ; Description of the Cisalpine Republic • 361
Foscolo becomes acquainted with Monti - - 361
Likeness between him and his imaginary Hero, Ortis • 362
His unfortunate Attachment for a Pisan Lady - - 362
He joins the Lombard Legion - « 363
1800. Invasion of the Austrio-Russians - 363
Foscolo joins the French Army at Genoa - - 363
Siege of Genoa - - - 364
Foscolo, his Letter to Bonaparte ... 364
(June 4th.) Surrender of Genoa - . 365
Conveyance of the Garrison to France by the English Fleet ;
Foscolo accompanies them - - 365
"Ortis" - - - .366
Comparison between Goethe's " Werter " and " Ortis " .366
Person and Manners of Foscolo - . 369
1802. Meeting of a Congress at Lyons to reform the Cisalpine Re-
public . . 370
Foscolo, his " Oration to Bonaparte " - 370
Foscolo holds a Commission in the Italian Legion . • 372
His Translation of Sterne's " Sentimental Journey " . 373
1805. He becomes intimate with General Caffarelli . .375
The Brescians - . - - 375
Foscolo, his " Ode on Sepulchres " 375
1808. He is made Professor of Eloquence in the University of Pavia j
his Introductory Oration • . 377
He incurs the Displeasure of Bonaparte - . 378
Loses his Professorship, and retires to the Lake of Como - 378
Description of the Lake ... 573
His Tragedy of " Ajax "... 379
Its Politics found fault with ; he is persecuted in consequence • 380
He is exiled from Milan, and visits Tuscany . . 380
1813. Manifesto of Lord William Bentinck . . 382
Treaty of Fontainebleau - 382
Foscolo, his Adherence to the Cause of Liberty - - 384
His Conversation with.Pecchio . . 385
He resides in Italy • ... $85
Lord Castlereagh . . .386
Arrival of Foscolo in England - - 386
His Retreat at St. John's Wood - . -387
1822. Pecchio visits him - - 387
Foscolo, his " Ricciarda " ... 388
The Siory on which it is founded ... 388
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. XXXlll
A. D. Page
Dedicated to Lord William Russell - - 388
1823. Lady Dacre interests herself in behalf of Foscolo - - 389
Description of Foscolo'i House at South Bank - 389
Imprudence of Foscolo ; his pecuniary Difficulties - • 392
1827. (October 10th.) His Death 392
His Character . - - 393
TABLE,
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL,
•
TO THE THIRD VOLUME OF
*
LIVES OF
EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF ITALY, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL.
INTRODUCTION,
*. D. Page
Preliminary Remarks - - - 1
Aborigines of Spain - . - « 2
Silius Italicus - - . . 2
Lucan - . - 2
The Senecaa - - ~ . .2
The Roman Power in Spain annihilated by the Visigoths - 3
Anecdotes of the Goths - . . .3
Conquest of Spain by the Moors . 3
The University of Cordova founded by Abdorrhaman III. . 4
Settlement of the Jews in Spain - . .4
Arabic Authors - - _ 5
The Romances Moriscos - - . - 5
Troubadours - - . - . - 5
Mosen Jordi de Sant Jordi - - . . 6
The Redondillas - - . _ 7
The Cancionero general and the Romancero general . .9
Quotation from Doctor Bowring's Translation of the Redon-
dillas . . _ 9
Romances of Chivalry - . . . 10
1325. Vasco Lobeira - - . . 10
Alphonso X., surnamed the Wise . . - 11
The Cultivation which he bestowed on the Castilian Language 11
His Works . . . . . H
The Alphonsine Tables - . . . n
Alphonso XI. - . . w - 11
Spain desolated by Civil Wars - .12
XXXVI ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
A. D. Page
Juan Ruiz ... - 12
1407. John II., his disastrous Reign - -12
The Marquis of Villena institutes Floral Games - - 13
1434. His Death , ... . 13
Marquis of Santillana - - 13
Marcias, his melancholy Fate - . • - 13
1412. Juan de Mena, the Ennius of Spain . - 14
His Birth - - . -14
His Origin - - 14
He studies at the University of Salamanca - - - 14
His Works - - ... - 15
1456. His Death - - - - 15
Quintano, his Opinion of the " Labyrinto" - - 15
Juan de Enzina, Author of the first Spanish Playa - - 17
His Birth - ... 17
His Songs and Lyrics - - 18
His Name becomes proverbial in Spain by his Song of Con-
traries or Absurdities - - 18
A Quotation from Doctor Bowring's Translation - - 18
Union of the Crowns of Castile and Arragon - - - 19
Castilian adopted as the classic Language of the Country . 20
BOSCAN.
The first Spanish Poet who introduced the Italian Style - 21
1500. His Birth - - . - 21
His noble Descent - - - - 21
His Marriage - - 21
^ Chosen Governor to the Duke of Alva - - - 22
1525. Andrea Navagero, the Venetian Ambassador - -22
His Arrival at the Court of Charles V. at Toledo ; he meets
with Boscan and Garcilaso
He induces them to quit their national Redondillas - .22
This Circumstance referred to by Boscan in the Dedication of
his Poems to the Duchess of Soma - - - 23
A Translation of one of Garcilaso's Poems - - - 24
Translation of the Epistle of Boscan to Don Diego Hurtado de
Mendoza - - . . - £8
1548. Petrarch and Boscan compared - - - 34
GARCILASO DE LA VEGA.
His illustrious Descent - - - -36
1503. His Birth - - . - 37
Accession of Charles V. » - - 38
Death of Cardinal Ximenes ... S3
Election of Charles to the Imperial Crown, and his intended
Departure for Germany ...
Revolution in Spain in consequence . - 38
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. XXXvii
Garcilaso distinguishes himself at the Battle of Pavia - - 39
1528. His Marriage - - . • . 39
1532. Invasion of Hungary by Solyman - - - 39
Garcilaso falls into Disgrace at Court - 39
His Exile - - - - 39
His Ode in Commemoration of his Imprisonment - - 40
Muley Hassan driven out of Algiers by Barbarossa, who pos-
sesses himself of it - - - - - 40
He fortifies the Citadel - - - - 41
Algiers invested by the Emperor Charles - - - 41
Garcilaso serves in the Imperial Army ; his Gallantry nearly
proves fatal to him - ... 41
Return of Charles to Italy - - . - 41
Garcilaso, his Residence at Naples - - -41
Quotation from his Elegy to Boscan - - -42
15S5. (5th of August) Cardinal Bemboa, his Letter to a Friend in
Commendation of Garcilaso - - - - 42
His Letter to Garcilaso - - - - 44
Charles V. enters France j he recals Garcilaso, and confers on
him the Command over eleven Companies of Infantry - 45
Epistle of Garcilaso to Boscan from Vaucluse - - 45
1536. Death of Garcilaso while attacking a Tower - - - 46
His Character - - - . - 47
His Children . - - - -47
His second Eclogue - - - - 47
Quotation from it - -49
Translation of his Ode to the " Flower of Gnido" - - 53
MENDOZA.
His numerous Titles - - - - .58
1500. His Birth - - - 58
His noble Extraction - - - - 58
Originality of his Genius - - - - 59
He studies Theology in the University of Salamanca - - 59
He leaves the Clerical Profession - - - 59
Appointed Ambassador to Venice - - 59
1545. Deputed to attend the Council of Trent - - 60
1547. He is made Governor and Captain General of Siena - -60
TheSalvi ... - 60
1545. A new Oligarchy erected in Siena - - 61
Revolt of Siena - - - - - 61
M endoza, his Government ; he leaves Siena ; on the Death of
Paul III. he repairs to Rome to watch the Progress of the
Conclave - - - - - 62
The Sieuece take Advantage of his Absence, and solicit the Aid
of the French King - - 63
Mendoza applies to the Pope for Assistance ; he evades his Re-
quest - . - 63
XXXV111 ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
A. a Page
1552. Loss of Siena to the Emperor - - - 63
1554. Recal of Mendoza to Spain - - 64
1557. Battle of St. Quentin - - — - 65
Mendoza present at it; characteristic Adventure related of
him - - 65
He composes his Work on " Hie History of the War of the
Moriscos in Granada " - - - - 65
1776. A complete Edition of his Works published - - - 67
1775. Death of Mendoza ; his Character - - - 67
Critique on his Poetry - - * - - - 68
LUIS DE LEON.
Preliminary Remarks .... - 70
1527. His Birth .,.'.- . . . - - 71
His Childhood - - - - . - 71
Becomes Doctor of Theology to the University of Salamanca - 72
1561. His Election to the Chair of St. Thomas - - - 72
His Enemies -*»'-,- - - - - 72
1572. He translates the Song of Solomon into Spanish, for which he is
imprisoned by the Inquisition at Valladolid - - - 72
His Odes to the Virgin written during his Imprisonment - 73
1576. His Liberation - - - - - 76
He visits Madrid 76
1591. He is elected Vicar-General of his Province - - 76
(23d of August.) His Death ... -76
His Person - - - - . -76
His Character - -77
His Theological Works - - . - 78
His Translations - - - - . . .78
A Quotation from one of his Odes, and a Translation of it - 79
FERNANDO HERRERA.
An Account of him by Rodrigo Caro . - - 83
Opinions of different Spanish Writers on his Poems - -86
His " Ode to Sleep " . . . .37
«
SAA DE MIRANDA.
149*. His Birth ". . „ „• 88
Style of his Poetry . .OR
JORGE DE MONTEMAYER.
1520. His Birth
Origin of his Name - .
He emigrates to Castile . ' .
His Work " Diana," critical Remarks on it
1661. Supposed Time of his Death
92
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. XXXIX
CASTILLEJO.
1580. Fernando de Acuna - - - - 92
1550. Gil Polo - - - - -92
Cetina - - - - 93
1596. Cristoval Castillejo - - ... 93
His Satires - - - 93
THE DRAMATISTS.
" Celestina, Tragicomedia de Calisto y Melibea " - - 95
The Plot of this Play - - - 95
1515. A Translation of the Amphitryon of Plautus, printed, and of
the Electra of Sophocles - - 96
Perez de Oliva - - - - 96
Obscurity of the earliest regular Dramas written in Spanish - 97
Bartolome Torres Naharro, his Dramatic Writings - - 97
Lope de Rueda, his Birth - 98
Account of him by Cervantes - . - 98
His Plays . 99
State of Literature under Charles V. - 100
Originality the Distinctive of the Spanish Character - - 101
ERCILLA.
Preliminary Remarks • ... 103
1533. (7th of March.) Don Alonso de Ercilla ; his Birth - - 104
His Ancestors - - - *" - - 104
His Education - - - - 10*
He is made Page of Honour to Prince Philip - - 104
Ambition of Charles V. - -105
Insurrection of the Araucanos in South America . . 105
The Charge of subduing them committed to Geronimo de Al-
derete - - - - - 10S
Ercilla leaves the personal Service of the Prince, and follows
the Adelantado to the East - - -106
Expedition of Don Garcia against the Araucanos - - 106
Ercilla distinguishes himself in the Indian War - - 107
Philip II. succeeds to the Throne of Spain - - 108
Ercilla escapes an early and disastrous End - 109
Cruelties committed by Lope de Aguirre on the Indians at Ve-
nezuela - ... HO
1562. Ercilla returns to Spain ; his Marriage - - 111
He is appointed Chamberlain to Maximilian II. - 112
1580. His Destitution and Abandonment - - 112
1595. The supposed Time of his Death - - US
His Character . - - m - 113
His " Araucana ;" Analysis and partial Translation of it - 115
Critique on it. - - - - 116
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
CERVANTES.
A. D. Page
Preliminary Remarks - -• - 120
1547. (9th of October.) His Birth - - 123
His Origin - - - - 123
His early Studies - - - - 123
1569. Death of Isabella of Valois, Wife of Philip 1 1. - . - 124
Lopez de Hoyos - -124
Cervantes quits Madrid - - 125
1568. He enters the Service of the Cardinal Acquaviva - -125
1569. He visits Rome - - 126
He enlists under General Antonio Colonna in the Campaign
against the Turks - - 126
1571. The combined Fleets of Venice, Spain, and the Pope assemble
at Messina - - 126
(7th of October.) Battle of Lepanto - -127
Gallant Conduct of Cervantes - - 127
He is wounded, and remains in the Hospital at Messina six
Months - - 128
1572. Don John of Austria - - -128
Second Campaign against the Turks - 128
The Spaniards alone prosecute the War - - 128
Attempted and unsuccessful Assault on the Castle of Navarino - 128
1573. The Venetians sign a Peace with Selim - - 129
Cervantes enters Tunis with the Marquis de Santa Cruz, and
returns to Palermo with the Fleet - - 12S
Cervantes obtains leave to return to Spain ... 129
The Galley he embarked in attacked by an Algerine Squad.
ron - .... 139
He is taken Prisoner by the Arnaout Captain - ISO
Piracies carried on by the Algerine Corsairs - - - 131
Their System . 131
Interesting Details of the Captivity of Cervantes - - 131
His Tale of the " Captive " - 131
1576. His first Attempt at Escape with some of his Companions . 133
Its Failure - - - .133
Gabridl de CastaSedo ransomed ; he brings Letters from Cer-
vantes to his Father - 133
1577. His Father unable to procure Money to ransom both him and
his Brother ; Cervantes gives up his Share to secure the Free-
dom of his Brother - 131
He arranges another Plan of Escape • - 134
1578. He is purchased by Hassan Aga - 137
1579. He concerts a new Plan of Escape with the Renegade Abd-al-
Rhamen - - 138
Is again betrayed - - 138
His Liberation - - - - 140
He refutes certain Calumnies, of which he was the Object - 141
1581. Landing of Cervantes in Spain - - 142
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
Xli
1582.
1583.
1584.
1588.
1593.
1594.
1597.
1603.
1604.
1605.
1606.
1610.
1615.
1608.
1614.
1615.
Page
He again enters the Army ; he embarks in the Squadron of
Don Pedro .... - 143
He serves in a naval Battle under Santa Cruz - - 143
Also at the Taking of Terceira - - 143
He publishes his "Galatea" - - 145
His Marriage .... -145
He accepts the Situation of Commissary to the Invincible
Armada . . - 147
His Office abolished - - 148
He manages the Affairs, and becomes the Friend, of Don
Hernando de Toledo » - 148
His two Sonnets - . . - 149
The Subject of the first - - - - 149
A magnificent Catafalque erected in the Cathedral of Seville
on the Death of Philip II. - 149
Sonnet of Cervantes to the Monument of the King at Seville - 151
Anecdote of a mercantile Casualty which happened to
Cervantes ; financial Annoyance - 151
Another Anecdote - - 152
He removes to Valladolid - - - 153
He becomes the Victim of litigious Proceedings - - 154
He composes his " Don Quixote " - - - 155
He returns to Spain - ... 156
A Story respecting the Dedication of " Don Quixote " to the
Duke of Bejar - - 157
Disputes respecting the Existence of the " Buscapie " 158
Satires against " Don Quixote " - - - - 160
James I. of England sends Lord Howard to present a Treaty of
Peace to Philip III., and to congratulate him on the Birth of
his Son ...... 161
An Account of these Festivities, written by Cervantes . . 161
An Event occurs by which Cervantes is greatly distressed - 161
He follows the Court to Madrid - - 163
Despotism and Bigotry extend their Influence over Spain - 163
Kindness of Don Bernardo de Sandoval, Archbishop of Toledo,
to Cervantes - • - 163
Count of Lemos made Viceroy of Naples . . - 164
The Argensolas, surnamed the Horaces of Spain - . 164
Disappointment of Cervantes at their Neglect - - -164
Anecdote of Philip III. . 165
The Censorship of "Don Quixote" intrusted to Francisco
Marquez Torres ... 166
His Account of the Neglect with which the Spaniards treated
Cervantes -
Preface to the " Twelve Tales " of Cervantes
He publishes his " Voyage to Parnassus "
Preface to his Work, " Comedias y Entremeses
Poetic Games
The " Don Quixote " of Avellanada
Indignation of Cervantes on iu Publication
c3
- 166
- 167
- 170
- 170
-171
Xlii ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
A. D. Page
Illness of Cervantes . - - - - 172
1616. His Excursion from Esquivias to Madrid - - - 172
His Adieu to the World - - 173
His Dedication to his Protector, the Count of Lemos - • 174
(23d of April.) His Death . . - - 174
His Will - - - 174
His Character - . . . - 175
His " Galatea " . - - 175
His " Numantia ; " the Plot of this Play . - - 176
His Comedy of " A Life in Algiers " . 178
Godwin's Opinion of " Don Quixote " - 182
Remarks on " Don Quixote " - - 182
Extracts from " Voyage to Parnassus " - - - 184
LOPE DE VEGA.
His Career and that of Cervantes compared - - - 189
Epithets of Praise heaped on him - - - 190
1562. His Birth - - . , - - 190
His Parentage - - . - 191
His Boyhood - - - - - 191
An Adventure related of him while at School - - - 192
He becomes the Protege of Geronimo Manrique, the Grand
Inquisitor - - 193
He enters the University of Alcala ... - 193
He enters the Service of the Duke of Alva - - 194
His " Arcadia ; " a Detail of the Story - - - 195
1598. Publication of the "Arcadia" - - -198
Lope de Vega leaves the Duke's Service ... 193
His Marriage - - - - - - 199
He is engaged in a Duel, which causes him to go to Valencia . 199
He returns to Madrid ; Death of his Wife - - -200
1588. He becomes a Soldier, and joins the Invincible Armada - - 200
His Eclogue to Claudio - - 200
1604. His Sonnets ... - - 200
A Translation of two of his Sonnets .... 202
Some Account of his " Dorotea " - - 204
Sanguine Expectations of the Invincible Armada - -209
Piratical Expeditions of Drake and Hawkins excite the Ani-
mosity and Vengeance of the Spaniards - 209
An animated Description of the setting forth of the Invincible
Armada, by Lope de Vega - 210
He composes " The Beauty of Angelica " - 210
3590. He returns from the Armada, and enters the Service of Count
Lemos - - 211
His second Marriage - - 211
1620. His Work, " The True Lover "
Extracts from his Epistles - 213
Uncertain Dates of the various Events of his Life - - 216
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. xliii
A. D. Page
1508. Canonisation of St. Isidro . - - 217
The Reputation of Lope de Vega awakens the Enmity of
Rivals and Critics - - - 217
His War with Gongora -' - -218
1616. His unexampled Popularity - - 219
1621. His Novel - -219
His " Soliloquies on God " - - - 220
His Poem on the Death of Mary Queen of Scots - - 220
Exaggerated Account of the Quantity of his Writings - 220
Anecdote of him and Montalvan ... 221
Extract from his Poems - - 222
1635. His Presentiments of his approaching Dissolution - -225
(18th of August) His Death - - -226
His Funeral ^- - - - 226
His Person - - 227
His Character - - - 227
The " Dragontea " - - - - 228
The " Jerusalem " - - 229
Difficulties of establishing the Theatre in Spain - - 230
Spanish Theatres - - - - 231
Analysis of the " Star of Seville," by Lord Holland - 233
Sacred Dramas and Autos Sacramentales of Lope de Vega - 235
Incongruities of his Plots -. - - 236
VICENTE ESPINEL. ESTEVAN DE VILLEGAS.
The Poetry of Spain . - - - 238
1544. Birth of V,icente Espinel - 239
His Parentage ... _ £39
1634. His Death . -240
1595. Birth of Estevan Manuel de Villegas, named the Anacieon of
Spain _ -240
His Parentage - - . 240
1618. His original Anacreontics published . .240
1626. His Marriage - . . -241
1669. His Death . . -241
Translation of one of his Sapphics . - 242
GONGORA.
1561. (llth of July.) His Birth - .243
His Parentage . - 243
A cursory Review of his Life - - - 243
1627. (2«h of May.) His Death - - - -244
His Person and Disposition ', - - 245
His early Poetry - - £45
His Style - ' V .245
His " Song of Catherine of Arragon" ••« . « 246
Extract from his Songs ... £47
His System - - . . £48
C4
Xv ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
A. D. Page
Quotations from Lope de Vega, showing the Absurdity of Gon-
gora's Style . -248
The " Polyphemus " of Gongora - . 252
Extract from his " Solitudes " - - -252
OUEVEDO.
The Talent and Genius of the Spaniards during the fourteenth
and fifteenth Centuries - - 255
Their Energies and Genius blighted by the Infamy of the
Political Institutions - - - 256
1580. (September.) Birth of Quevedo - - 256
His Parentage - 256
He enters the University of AlcalS - 256
A Circumstance occurs which obliges him to quit the Court «• 257
He takes refuge in Italy - - 258
Don Pedro Giron Duke of Osuna - 258
His Character - - - 258
The Court of Philip III. - - 258
Quevedo sent as Ambassador to Madrid - - 259
His Success ; a Pension bestowed on him - 259
Duke of Osuna advanced to the Viceroyalty of Naples ; his Vic-
tories over the Turks - - 259
The Spanish Power threatens to become omnipotent in Italy - 260
Charles Emanuel endeavours to make head against it - 260
The Duke of Osuna opposes the Venetians - 260
The lawless and dishonourable Means he takes . . 260
He protects the Uscocchi against the Venetians - - 260
The Merchants of Naples and the French make Representations
at the Court of Madrid in consequence - - 260
Osuna ordered to suspend Hostilities - 260
1618. The Bedmar Conspiracy - - 261
Quevedo and Osuna supposed to be implicated in the Plot - 262
Quevedo escapes from Venice -262
Osuna continues Viceroy of Naples ; he is suspected of intend-
ing to arrogate Power independent of the King • * - 263
He is ordered to return to Madrid ... 263
Cautious proceedings of the Court with respect to him - 264
Cardinal Don Gaspar de Borgia is named his Successor - - 264
Return of Osuna to Spain ... 264
1624. His Imprisonment and Death - - 264
1620. Quevedo, his attachment to Osuna - - 264
He is suspected of participating in his treasonable Designs - 265
His Imprisonment in consequence - - 265
His Liberation - • - 265
1632. He is made Secretary to the King - • - 266
1634. He leaves the Church, and marries - - 266
His Wife dies - - 266
His own Words, alluding to his evil Fate • , - £67
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. xlr
A. n. Page
1641. He is suspected of being the Author of certain Libels ; is
arrested and imprisoned in Consequence . - 206
Two Letters of his . . ,-289
His Memorial to Count Olivarez - -270
His Liberation - - .-271
1647. (September 8th.) His Death - . -272
His Person - - - -272
His Character - - - 272
His Style - - 273
A singular Circumstance appertaining to his literary Career - 274
Critique on his Prose Writings - ZK
His " Vision of Calvary " - . .276
His " Alguazil possessed " . . - 277
CALDERON.
Misrule and Oppression destroy the Spirit and Intellect of Spain 278
Luzan - - - - 278
Moratin - - - -278
1601. Birth of Calderon - - -279
His illustrious Descent - - - 279
He enters the University of Salamanca - - 279
1620. He leaves Salamanca - - 280
1626. He enters the Military Service - - -280
He serves in the Milanese and Flanders • - 280
1637. He is recalled to Court - - 280
Innumerable Dramas appear under the patronage of Philip IV. 280
He summons Calderon to his Court - 281
1650. Marriage of Philip VI. with Maria Ana of Austria - - 281
Calderon quits the military Career, and becomes a Priest - 281
1654. He becomes Chaplain to the Royal Chapel at Toledo - - 282
1687. (May 29th.) His Death - - - 282
His Character - - - - 282
Characteristics of his Plays - - - 283
Character of his Poetry - - - 285
THE EARLY POETS OF PORTUGAL.
RIBKYRO— GIL VICENTE — SA\ DE MIRANDA — FEHREIRA.
Original Portuguese Tongue ... 288;
Alphonso Henriquez, Founder of the Portuguese Monarchy - 288
Portuguese Poetry - - - 289
1487. Bartolomeo Diaz doubles the Cape of Good Hope - - 299
Vasco de Gama visits the Shores of India . . 299
A Portuguese Kingdom founded in Hindostan - - 290
Bernardim Ribeyro, the Ennius of Portugal . - 290
Saa de Miranda, Founder of Portuguese Poetry - - 291
Gil Vicente, the Portuguese Plautus - - 292
Antonio Ferreira, the Portuguese Horace • • 292
xlvi ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
A. D. Page
1569. His Death - - - -293
His Style . - - - - 293
AMOENS.
Camoens and Cervantes, their Destiny similar in many Respects 295
1817. The " Lusiad," Translation of it - 295
Origin of the Family of Camoens ... 295
Derivation of his Name - .296
1370. Vasco Perez de Camoens takes the Part of Castile against Por-
tugal - . -297
1524. Birth of Camoens - - 298
1308. Foundation of the University of Coimbra by King Diniz - 299
1537. Camoens enters the University of Coimbra - - 300
Extract from his fourth Canzone - - 301
Another Extract from another - - 301
1545. He leaves Coimbra - - - - 302
His Arrival at Court - - 302
He falls in Love j his Sonnet in Commemoration of this Occa-
sion ... . ,. . 303
The Poetry of Camoens and Petrarch compared . - 304
Translations of Camoens' Sonnets, by Doctor Southey - 306
Exile of Camoens from the Palace - - - 306
Writes several of his Lyrics during his Banishment - - 307
Lord Strangford's Translation of an Elegy written at this
Time - - -307
1550. Bravery of Camoens while with the Troops at Ceuta - - 310
Loses one of his Eyes in a naval Engagement in the Straits of
Gibraltar ..... 310
1553. He embarks for India - - - - 310
Don Alfonso de Noronha, Viceroy of Goa - 312
Camoens joins the Armament sent from Goa against the King
of Cochin - - - - - - S12
Returns to Goa - - . . - 319
Death of Antonio de Noronha - - 312
Camoens' Letter to a Friend, inclosing a Sonnet and Elegy on
his Death - - - - 313
1554. Dom Pedro Mascarenhas succeeds Noronha in the Viceroyalty
of Goa ... .315
Cruising of the Mahometans detrimental to the Portuguese . 315
Expedition of de Vasconcellos to protect the Merchantmen - 315
Camoens joins this Expedition - - - 315
1555. Returns to Goa, and writes his ninth Canzone - - 315
Extortion and Tyranny of the Portuguese Government - 316
Causes Camoens to write his Satire*" Follies of India " - 316
1556. Departs from Goa in the Fleet which Barreto despatched to the
South . . . .317
Is appointed Commissary - . • 317
Description of Camoens' Grotto at Macao - - 318
He composes the " Lusiad" - - 318
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE,
A. D. Page
On his Return to Goa he is wrecked on the River Mecon - 319
Arrives at Goa; the Kindness with which he is received by the
new Governor, Dom Constantine de Braganza - . 320
Accused of Malversation in the Exercise of his Office at Macao 320
Extract from the " Lusiad ** - S20
Camoens pursues his military Career in India - - 321
He commemorates the Death of Dona Catarinade Atayde . 322
Pedro Barreto appointed Governor of Sofala in. the Mozam-
bique - - - ... 323
Camoens accompanies him - - 323
His dependent State - - - - - 323
Quarrels with Barreto - - -323
Arrival of his Indian Friends, who supply hi* Wants, and
invite him to accompany them - - 324
Barreto refuses to let him go until he paid 200 Ducats - . 324
He accompanies his Friends home - - 325
1569. Arrives at Lisbon • - - 325
The Plague at Lisbon - 325
Political State of the Kingdom disadvantageous to Camoens - 325
1571. The " Lusiad " published - - - 326
Melancholy Circumstances attending the last Days of Ca-
moens - . . - - - 327
3578. Defeat of Sebastian in Africa - - - 328
Its Effect on Camoens - - - .328
1579. Last Scene of Camoens' Life - • - -328
His Tomb - - . . -329
His Person . . . 329
A Review of his Life - - - 330
Extract from the " Lusiad/' and a Critique on it - .332
CONTENTS.
DANTE - - 1
PETRARCH - 61
BOCCACCIO - 116
LORENZO DE' MEDICI, &c. - 150
BOJARDO - 181
BERNI - - 188
ARIOSTO - - 196
i
MACHIAVELLI - - - 256
LIVES
OP
EMINENT
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
DANTE ALIGHIERI.
ITALY. 1265—1321.
" 'Tis the doom
Of spirits of my order to be rack'd
In life; to wear their hearts out, and consume
Their days in endless strife, and die alone :
— Then future thousands crowd around their tomb,
And pilgrims come from climes where they have known
The name of Him,— who now is but a name;
And wasting homage o'er the sullen stone,
Spread his, by him unheard, unheeded, fame."
LORD BYRON'S Prophecy of Dante, Canto I.
AMONG the illustrious fathers of song who, in their
own land, cannot cease to exercise dominion over the
minds, characters, and destinies of all posterity, — and
who, beyond its frontiers, must continue to influence the
taste, and help to form the genius, of those who shall
exercise like authority in other countries, — Dante Ali-
ghieri is, undoubtedly, one of the most remarkable.
This poet was descended from a very ancient stock,
which, according to Boccaccio, traced its lineage to the
Roman house of Frangipani, — one of whose members,
surnamed Eliseo, was said to have been an early settler,
if not a principal founder, of the restored city of Flo-
VOL. I. H
2 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
rence, in the reign of Charlemagne, after it had lain deso-
late for several centuries, subsequently to its destruction
by Attila the Hun. From this Eliseo sprang a family,
of which Dante gives, in the fifteenth and sixteenth cantos
of his <e Paradise/' such information, as he thought pro-
per ; making Cacciaguida (one of its most distinguished
chiefs, who fell fighting in the crusade under the emperor
Conrad III.,) savj rather ambiguously, of those who
went before him, that <f who they were, and whence
they came, it is more honest to keep silence than to
tell," — probably, however, intending no more than to
disclaim vain boasting, but not by any means to dis-
parage his progenitors, for whom, in the fifteenth canto
of the tf Inferno," he seems to claim the glory of having
been of Roman descent, and fathers of Florence. Cac-
ciaguida, having married a noble lady of Ferrara, gave
to one of his sons by her the name of Aldighieri (after-
wards softened to Alighieri), in honour of his consort.
This Alighieri was the grandfather of Dante ; and con-
cerning him,, Cacciaguida, in the last-mentioned canto,
informs the poet, that, for some unnamed offence, his
spirit has been more than a hundred years pacing
round the first circle of the mountain of purgatory;
adding, —
" Ben si convien, che la lunga fatica
Tu gli raccorci con 1' opere tue."
" And well it would be, were his long fatigue
Shorten'd by thy good deeds."
Dante was born in the spring of the year 1265. Ben-
venuta da Immola calls his father a lawyer ; but little
more is recorded of him except that he was twice mar-
ried, and left two sons and a daughter, at an early age,
to the guardianship of relatives. Dante (abridged from
Durante) was born of Bella, his father's second wife, of
whom, during her pregnancy, Boccaccio relates a very
significant dream, — on what authority he does not say,
and with what truth the reader may judge for himself.
DANTE ALIGHIERI. 3
She imagined herself sitting under the shade of a lofty
laurel, in the midst of a green meadow, by the side of a
brilliant fountain. Here she was delivered of a boy,
who, in as little time as might easily happen in a dream,
grew up into a man before her eyes, by feeding upon
the berries that fell from the tree, and drinking of the
pure stream which watered its roots. Presently he had
become a shepherd; but, climbing too eagerly up the
stem to gather some leaves from the laurel, with the
fruit of which he had been hitherto nourished, he fell
headlong to the ground, and on rising appeared no longer
a man, but a magnificent peacock. It would be ag-
gravating the offence of wasting time by quoting such
a fable, were we to give the obvious interpretation.
This, however, the great Boccaccio has done with most
magniloquent gravity, — a task for which, of all men,
he was no doubt the most competent, as it is probable that
no soul living (the lady herself not excepted) besides
himself was in the secret either of the vision or the
moral. One point of the latter, which could not easily
be guessed, may be mentioned; namely, that the spots
on the peacock's tail (the hundred eyes of Argus) fore-
showed the hundred cantos of the " Divina Commedia."
The ingenious author of the Decameron may have bor-
rowed the idea of this dream from Dante's own allusion
to the laurel and its leaves, — the meed of poets and of
princes, — in his preposterous invocation of Apollo at the
commencement of the " Paradiso."
Dante himself never alludes to this notable omen,
though often referring, with conscious pride, to his ge-
nius, and the circumstances by which it had been awak-
ened and exercised. This he attributed to tlie benign
influence of the constellation Gemini, which ruled at his
nativity. In the " Paradiso," Canto xxii., mentioning
his flight from the planetary system to the eighth sphere,
where the fixed stars have their dwelling, he exclaims, —
" O Reader ! as I hope once more to reach
That realm of holy triumph *, for whose sake
* The heaven of heavens.
B 2
4 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
I oft lament my sins and smite my breast,
Thou could'st not, in so brief a space, through fire
Have pass'd and pluck'd thy finger, as I saw
And was within the sign that follows Taurus.
O glorious stars ! light full of highest virtue !
From whence, whate'er it be, my genius sprang,
With you arose, and set the Sire of life *,
When first I breathed the Tuscan air. With you
My lot was cast, when grace was given to mount
The lofty wheel which guides your revolutions.
To you, devoutly, my whole soul aspires
To gather courage for the bold adventure
That draws me onward tow'rds itself." f
Brunette Latini (his tutor afterwards) is reported to
have foretold the boy's illustrious destiny, on due con-
sultation with the heavenly bodies that presided at his
birth. Yet, superstitious as Dante appears to have been
in this respect, in the twentieth canto of the " Inferno"
he punishes astrologers, and those who presume to pre-
dict events, by twisting their heads over their shoulders,
and making those for ever look backward who, too dar-
ingly, had looked forward into inscrutable futurity.
" People I saw within that nether glen,
Silent, and weeping as they went, with slow
Pace, like the chaunters of our litanies. \
As I gazed down on them, the chin of each
Seem'd marvellously perverted from the chest,
And from the reins the visage turn'd behind :
* The sun in the sign of the Twins.
-}• " S' io torni mai, Lettore, a quel devoto
Trionfo, per lo quale io piango spesso
Le mie peccata, e '1 petto mi percuoto,
Tu non avresti in tanto tratto e messo
Nel fuoco il dito, in quanto io vidi '1 segno,
Che segue '1 tauro, e fui dentro da esso.
O gloriose stelle ! O lume pregno
Di gran virtu, 'dal quale io riconosco
Tutto (qual che si sia) il mio ingegno ;
Con voi nasceva, e s'ascendeva vosco
Quegli, ch' e padre d'ogni mortal vita,
Quand' io senti' da prima 1'aer Tosco.
E ppi quando mi fu grazia largita
D'entrar nell* alta ruota che vi gira,
X.a vostra region mi fu sortita.
A voi divotamente ora sospira
L' anima mia, per aquistar virtute
Al passo forte che a se la tira."
t In religious processions on saint-days*
DANTE ALIGHIERI. 5
Wherefore, since none could look before him, all
Must needs walk backward j — so it may have chanced
To some one palsy-stricken, to be wrench'd
Thus all awry ; but I have never seen
Aught like it, nor believe the like hath happened.
Reader, — so help thee Heaven to gather fruit
From this strange lesson ! — think within thyself
If I could keep my countenance unwet
When I beheld our image so transposed,.
That the eyes wept their tears between the shoulders."*
Though early deprived of his father by death, Dante
appears to have been well attended to by his relatives and
guardians, who placed him for education under Brunetto
Latini and other eminent tutors. He was by them in-
structed not only in polite letters, but in those liberal ac-
complishments which became his rank and prospects in
life. In these he excelled ; yet, while he delighted in
* This passage i» remarkable for having been imitated by Spenser in his
personification of Forgetfulness : he, however, makes the feet and face at
variance, which Dante does not, reversing the aspect of the one and the
motion of the other : —
" But very uncouth sight was to behold
How he did fashion his untoward pace ;
For as he forward moved his footing old,
To backward still was turn'd his wrinkled face,
Unlike to men, who, ever as they trace
Both feet and face one way are wont to lead."
Faerie Queene, book I canto viiL sL31.
The latter clause of Dante's lines has been remembered by Mil ton : —
" Sight so deform, what heart of man could long
Dry-eyed behold ?— Adam could not, but wept"
Paradise Lust, book XL ver. 495.
" E vidi gente per lo vallon tondo
Venir, tacendo e lagrimando, al passo
« Che fanno le letane in questo mondo.
Come '1 viso mi scese in lor pid basso,
Mirabilmente apparve esser travolto
Ciascim dal mento al principio del casso :
Che dalle reni era tomato il volto,
Ed indietro venir li convenia,
Perchfe 1 veder dinanzi era lor tolto.
Forse per forza gia di parlasia
Si travolse cosi alcun del tutto :
Ma io nol vidi, ne credo che sia.
Se Dio ti laaci, letter, prender frutto
Di tua lezione, or pensa per te stesso
Com' io potea toner lo viso asciutto,
Quando la nostra imagine da presso
Vidi si torta, che '1 pianto degli occhi
Le natiche bagnava per lo fesso."
B 3
O LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
horsemanship, falconry, and all the manly as well as mi-
litary exercises practised by persons of distinction in those
days, he was, at the same time, so diligent a scholar,
that he readily made himself master of all the crude
learning then in vogue. It is stated by Pelli that, while
yet a boy, he entered upon his noviciate at a convent of
the Minor Friars. But his mind was too active and
enterprising to enslave itself to dulness in any form ; and
he withdrew before the term of probation was ended.
According to Boccaccio, before he could be either
student, sportsman, soldier, or monk, he became a lover;
and a lover thenceforward to the end of his life he ap-
pears to have remained, with a passion so pure and
unearthly, that it has been gravely questioned whether
his mistress were a real or an imaginary being. The
former, however, happening to be quite as probable as
the latter, all true youths and maidens will naturally
choose to believe that which is most pleasant, and give
the credence of the heart to every eulogium which the
poet, throughout his works, has lavished upon his
Beatrice, whatever greybeards may think of the fol-
lowing story: — One fine May-day, when, according to
the custom of the country, parties of both sexes used to
meet in family circles, and, under the roofs of common
friends, rejoice on the return of the genial season, Folco
Portinari, a Florentine of no mean parentage, had invited
a great number of neighbours to partake of his hospitality.
As it was common on such occasions for children to ac-
company their relatives, Dante Alighieri, then in his
ninth year, had the good fortune to be present ; where,
mingling with many other young folks, in their after-
noon sports, he singled out, with the second sight of the
future poet, that one whom his verse was destined to
eternise. The little lady, a year younger than himself,
was Sice (the familiar abbreviation of Beatrice), daugh-
ter of the gentleman at whose house the festivities
were held. She need not be pictured here ; for pre-
mature as such a fit must have been, every one who
remembers a first love, at any age, will know how she
DANTE ALIGHIEBI. 7
looked, how she spoke, how she stepped, and how her
hero felt, — growing at every instant greater and better,
and braver in his own esteem, that he might become
worthy of hers : — suffice it to say, from Boccaccio, that
Dante, though but a boy, received her beautiful image
into his heart with such fondness of affection, that, from
that day, it never departed thence.
In his ff Vita Nuova" (a romantic and sentimental
retrospect of his youth), he has himself described his
raptures and his agonies in the commencement and
progress of this passion ; which was not extinguished^
but refined ; not buried with her body, but translated
with its object, (her soul,) when Beatrice died, in 12QO,
at the age of twenty-four years. Judging from the
general tenour of his poetry, of which his mistress
was at once the inspirer and the theme, it must be
presumed that the lady returned his noble attachment
with corresponding tenderness and delicacy ; though
why they were not united by marriage has never been
told. He intimates, indeed, that it was long before
he could learn, by any token from herself, that his
faithful passion was not hopeless. As usual in cases of
this kind, a most unpoetical accident has been ill-
naturedly interposed, by truth or tradition, to spoil a
charm almost too exquisite to be more than a charm
which the breath of five words might break. On the
evidence of a marriage certificate, which Time unluckily
dropped in his flight, and some poring antiquary picked
up a century or two afterwards, it seems as though
Beatrice became the wife of a cavalier de Bardi. Dante
himself, however (who pretends to no bosom-secrets too
dark to be uttered), never alludes to such a blight of his
prospects on this side of that threefold world which he
was afterwards privileged to explore, at her spontaneous
intercession, that he might be purged from every baser
flame than entire affection to herself, while she gave him
in the eighth heaven a heart divided only with her
God. After her decease, he intimates that he was
tempted to infidelity to her memory (in which she was
8 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
the bride of his soul), by the appearance at a window of
a lady who so much resembled his " late deceased
saint," that he almost forgot her in retracing her own
loveliness in the features of this new apparition. His
tears flowed freely at the sight; and he felt comforted by
the sympathy of the beautiful stranger in his sufferings.
But when, after a little while, he found love to the living
symbol growing up like a serpent among the flowers, he
fled in terror from it, before the gaze which had gained
such power over his senses had irrevocably fascinated
him to destruction ; and he bewailed, in the most hu-
miliating terms, the frailty of his heart and the wan-
dering of his eyes. It is, moreover, the glory of his
great work that the posthumous affection of Beatrice
herself is represented as having so troubled her spirit,
that, even amidst the blessedness of Paradise, she devised
means whereby her lover might be reclaimed from the
irregularities into which he had fallen after her re-
straining presence had been withdrawn from him on
earth, and that he might be prepared, by visions of the
eternal world, for future and everlasting companionship
with her in heaven.
Dante, as he grew up to manhood, and for several
years afterwards, continued successfully to pursue his
studies in the universities of Padua, Bologna, and Paris.
In the latter city he is said to have held various theo-
logical disputations, alike creditable to his learning, elo-
quence, and acuteness ; though, from the failure of
pecuniary means, he could not remain long enough there
to obtain academical honours. On the authority of
Giovanni da Serraville, bishop of Fermo, it has been
believed that he also visited Oxford, where, as elsewhere,
his different exercises gained him, — according to the re-
spective tastes of his admirers, — from some the praise
of being a great philosopher, from others a great divine,
and, from the rest, a great poet. Serraville, at the
request of cardinal Saluzzo and two English bishops,
(Nicholas Bubwith, of Bath, and Robert Halam, of
Salisbury,) whom he met at the council of Constance,
DANTE ALIGHIEBI. 9
translated Dante's " Divina Commedia" into Latin
prose; of which one manuscript copy only, with a com-
mentary annexed, is known to be in existence, in the
Vatican library. The extraordinary interest which the
two English prelates took in Dante's poem may be re-
garded as indirect, though of course very indecisive,
evidence of his having been personally known at our
famous university, and having been honourably re-
membered there. It is, however, certain that, soon after
his decease, the ft Divina Comraedia " was in high
repute among the few in this country who, during the
reigns of Edward III. and Richard II., in a chivalrous
age, cultivated polite letters. This is apparent from the
numerous imitations of passages in it by Chaucer, who
was then attempting to do for England what his mag-
nificent prototype had recently done for Italy.
Uncertain as the traditions concerning this portion of
Dante's life (and indeed of every other) may be, there
is no doubt that he became early and intimately ac-
quainted with the reliques of all the Roman writers then
known in Italy. Among these, Virgil, Ovid, and
Statius were his favourites, and naturally so, as excelling
(each according to his peculiar genius) in marvellous and
beautiful narrative, to which their youthful admirer's
own sublime and daring genius intuitively led him. At
the same time, he not less courageously and patiently
groped his way through the labyrinths of school di-
vinity, and the dark caverns of what was then deemed
philosophy, under the bewildering guidance of Duns
Scotus and Thomas Aquinas. Full proof of the im-
provement which he made, both under classical and po-
lemical tutors and prototypes, may be traced in all his
compositions, prose as well as verse, from the earliest to
the last : yet, that which was his own, it must be ac-
knowledged, is ever the best; and if, in addition to a
large proportion of this, there had not been a savour of
originality communicated to every thing which he bor-
rowed or had been taught, his works must have perished
with those of his contemporaries, who are now either
10 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
nameless, or survive only as names in the titles of unread
and unreadable volume;?.
During this season of seed time for the mind, we are
told that, notwithstanding his indefatigable labours in
the acquirement and cultivation of knowledge, he ap-
peared so cheerful, frank, and generous in deport-
ment and disposition, that nobody would have imagined
him to be such a devoteejo literature in the stillness of
the closet, or the open field of college exercises. On
the contrary, he passed in public for a gallant and high-
bred man of the world ; following its customs and
fashions, so far as might be deemed consistent in a per-
son of honour, and independence, — qualities on which
he sufficiently prided himself ; for which, also, in after
life, he dearly paid the price, — and paid it, like Aristides,
by banishment.
But Beatrice dying in 1290*, her lover is reported to
have fallen into such a state of despondency, that his-
friends, fearing the most frightful effects upon his
reason not less than upon his health, persuaded him, as
a last resource, to marry. Accordingly he took to wife
Madonna Gemma, of the house of Donati ; one of the
most powerful families of Tuscany, and unhappily one
of the most turbulent where few could be called pacific.
By her he had five sons and a daughter. Her husband's
biographers (with few exceptions) have conspired to
darken this lady's memory with the stigma of being an
insufferable shrew, who rendered his life a martyrdom by
domestic discomforts. Aline in the " Inferno," Cantoxvi.,
in which one of the lost spirits, Jacopo Rusticci, says,
" La fiera moglie, piu ch* altro, mi nuoce,"
" More than aught else, my furious wife annoys me," —
has often been quoted as referring, with indirect bitter-
ness, to his own miserable union with a firebrand of a
* According to his own intimation in the Purgatorio, canto xxxii. ver. 2.,
where he speaks of his " eyes " being eager to relieve themselves of their
" ten years' thirst," on her spiritual appearance to him ; — the date of the
visions being A. D. 1300, and the descent into the lower regions represented
us having been made on Good Friday, 1266 years after the death of Christ.
—Ir^ferno, canto xxi.
I
DANTE ALIGHIERI. 11
woman : yet, in no passage throughout the whole of his
long poem, does Dante cast the slightest shade upon her
character; though, with the frankness of honest cen-
sure or undisguised resentment, he spares nobody else,
friend or foe, in the distribution of v/hat he deemed
impartial justice. One thing is exceedingly in favour
of his own amiable and affectionate nature, in the
nearest connections of life : whenever he mentions
children in his similes (and he mentions them often), it
is always with exquisite delicacy or endearing playful-
ness ; while, in the tenderest tones, he descants on their
beauty, their innocence, their sports, and their suffer-
ings. Mothers, too, are among the loveliest objects
which he presents in those sweet interludes of real life
which he delights to bring in, and does so with consum-
mate address, to relieve the horrors of the infernal pit,
the wearying pains of purgatory, and the insufferable
glories of Paradise. Concerning Dante's wife it may
therefore be fairly presumed, that she was less of either
termagant or tormentor than has been generally imagined
by his over- zealous editors. The petulance of Boccaccio
and the gravity of Aretino (two of his earliest biogra-
phers) on this subject are ludicrously contrasted. The
former affects to be quite shocked at the idea of the
sublime and contemplative poet being forced to lead the
dull household life of other men, and submit to certain
petty annoyances of daily occurrence. — On these he
expatiates most pathetically, as things which might have
been, though he fairly acknowledges that he does not
know that any of them were, the causes of long un-
happiness and final separation between the parties. Are-
tino, on the other hand, in sober sadness (without any
reference to the ill qualities of either), justifies Dante
for condescending to be married, on the ground that
many illustrious philosophers, including Socrates, the
greatest of all, were husbands and fathers, and held
offices of state, in perfect compatibility with their intel-
lectual pursuits !
It should not be overlooked, in mitigation of her occa-
12 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
sional asperities, that, Madonna Gemma being the near
kinswoman of Corso Donati, Dante's most formidable and
inveterate rival in the party feuds of Florence, some drops
of the gall of political rancour may have been infused
into the matrimonial cup. The poet's known and avowed
passion for Beatrice, living and dead, was alone sufficient
to afflict a high-minded woman with the rankling con-
sciousness that she had not all her husband's heart. It is,
moreover, no small proof of her submission to his will
and pleasure, that their only daughter bore the name of
his first — last — only love, if we are to believe all the pro-
testations of his verse. Be these things as they may,
it must be concluded that he was coupled with a most
unpoetical yoke-mate; and she with a lord and master
not easy to be ruled by her or any body else. It has
been loosely stated that ec the poet, not possessing the
patience of Socrates, separated himself from his wife,
with such vehement expressions of dislike that he never
afterwards allowed her to sit down in his presence."
When this happened — if it ever so happened — does
not appear ; nothing further seems certain, except that
she did not follow her husband into exile : but Boccaccio
himself acknowledges, that after that event, having
secured (not without difficulty) a small portion of his
effects from confiscation as her dower, she preserved
herself and their little children from the wretchedness of
absolute poverty, by such expedients of industry and
economy as she had never before been accustomed to
practise.
It has been already intimated, that, though in all the
logomachies of the schools Dante was an eager and
skilful disputant, yet he was left behind by none of his
contemporaries in those personal accomplishments which
became his station. In the mean while he cultivated
with constitutional ardour and diligence those higher
qualifications, which, in the sequel, enabled him to serve
his country as a citizen, a soldier, and a magistrate,
under circumstances that called forth all his talents,
valour, firmness, wisdom, and discretion ; though, judg-
DANTE ALIGHIERI. 13
ing from the issue, the latter failed him oftener than the
former. Eloquent, brave, and resolute he always was ;
but not always wise and discreet. This, indeed, might
be presumed; for in the pursuit of distinction, — instead
of attaching himself to the selfish and mercenary pro-
fessions which oftenest lead to wealth, power, and
family aggrandisement, — he preferred those generous
studies which most exalt, enrich, and adorn the mind,
but yet, while they gratify the taste of their votary,
rather advance him in moral and intellectual eminence
than to temporal and substantial prosperity. These, there-
fore, were exercises calculated to awaken and display
the energies and resources of a temper formed to con-
ceive, attempt, and achieve great things, so far — and
perhaps so far only — as depended on his individual
exertions. In the solitary case wherein he had official
authority to direct difficult public affairs he failed so
irrecoverably, that, during the residue of his life, he was
more a sufferer than an actor in the troubles of those
hideous times.
Italy, it must be observed, was still distracted with
strife, in every form that strife could assume, between
the factions of the Guelfs and Ghibelines ; — the former,
adherents of the pope; the latter, of the emperor of
Germany. These factions not only arrayed state against
state, but frequently divided people of the same pro-
vince, the same city, and the same family against one
another,, in the most violent and implacable hostility,
— hostility, violent in proportion as it was irrational,
and implacable in proportion as it was unnatural ; being,
in every instance, and on both sides, contrary to the
interests of their respective communities. Lombardy,
especially since the Cisalpine conquests of Charlemagne,
had never ceased to be a snare to his successors. The
popes, who at first had affected spiritual dominion only,
after the grant of territorial possessions, by that deed of
Constantine to Silvester, which, having disappeared from
earth, may be found, according to the veritable testi-
mony of Ariosto, in the moon, the receptacle of all lost
14 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
things *, gradually aspired to secular power. But all
their ambition and influence failed, in the end, to spread
their secular sovereignty beyond those provinces adja-
cent to Rome, which they yet retain by courtesy of the
cathoh'c potentates of Europe.
At the time of Dante's birth, the Guelf or papal party
had recently recovered their ascendancy at Florence,
after having been expatriated for several years, in con-
sequence of their disastrous overthrow at the battle of
Monte Aperto. The poet was therefore educated in
Guelfic principles, and adhered to them till his banish-
ment, when the perfidious interference of the pope with
the independence of his native city, and the atrocious
hostility of its citizens against himself and his friends,
compelled him to take part with the imperialists.
The first public character in which we find the pa-
triotic poet distinguishing himself was that of a soldier.
In one of the petty wars that were perpetually occurring
between the little irascible republics in the north of
Italy, the Florentines gained a decisive victory over
their neighbours of Arezzo (who had harboured the
Ghibelline refugees), at the battle of Campaldino, A. D.
1289- On this occasion, Dante, who served among the
cavalry, was not only exposed to imminent peril at the
commencement of the action, when that body was par-
tially routed by the impetuosity of the enemy's charge,
* " Di varii fiori ad un gran monte p'assa,
Ch' ebber gik buono odore, or puzzan forte,
Questo era il dono (se perb dir lece,)
Che Constantino al buon Silvestro fece."
Orlando Furioso, canto xxxiv.
Thus translated by Milton : —
" Then pass'd he to a flowery mountain green,
Which once smelt sweet, now stinks as odiously
This was that gift (if you the truth will have)
That Constantine to good Silvester gave."
Dante alludes, with bitterness, to the same unhappy gift, in three lines,
which Milton has also translated with more faithfulness than felicity : —
" Ahi ! Constantin, di quanto mal fu matre,
• Non la tua conversion, ma quella dote,
Che da te prese il primo ricco patre." — DelV Inferno, canto xix.
" Ah Constantine! of how much ill was cause
Not thy conversion, but those rich domains,
\Vhich the first wealthy pope receiv'd of thee."
DANTE ALIGHIERI. 15
but when the squadron had rallied again on reaching the
lines of infantry, and thence returned to the attack, he
fought in the first rank, and displayed such extraordinary
valour, as to claim a proud share in the glory of that
day. To this conflict, and the particular service in
which he had heen engaged, he seems to allude in Canto
XXII. of the Inferno. Having mentioned the signal
given hy Barbariccia (serjeant of a file of demons, ap-
pointed to escort Dante and Virgil over a certain dan-
gerous pass on their journey,) — a signal too absurd to
be repeated here, either in English or Italian, he
says : —
" I have seen cavalry upon their march,
Rush to the combat, rally on the field,
And sometimes seek for safety in retreat :
I have seen jousts and tournaments array'd ;
Seen clouds of skirmishers sweep through your fields,
Ye Aretines ! and spoilers, lay them waste ;
Drum, cymbal, trumpet, beacon from tower-top,
And other strange or native things their signals ;
But never, at the blast of instrument
So barbarous have witness'd horse or foot,
Or ship, by star or landmark, put in motion :
— With those ten demons thus we took our way ;
Fell company ! but, as the proverb saith,
At church with saints, with gluttons in the tavern." *
In the following year Dante was again in the
field, at the siege of Caprona. To this he alludes in
Canto XXI. of the Inferno, where, under convoy of the
aforementioned fiends, he compares his fears lest they
* " I* vidi gia cavalier muover campo,
E comminciare stonno, e far lor mostra,
E tal volta partir per loro scampo :
Corridor vidi per la terra vostra,
O Aretini ! e vidi gir gualdane,
Ferir torneamenti, e correr giostra,
Ouando con trombe, e quando con campane,
Con tamburi, e con cenni di castella,
E con cose nostrali, e con istrane :
Ne gi£ con si diversa cenr.amella,
Cavalier vidi muover, ne pedoni,
Ne nave a segno di terra, o di Stella.
Noi andavara con li dieci demon! ;
Ah ! tiera compa^nia ! — ma nella chieja
Co' Santi, e in taverna co' ghiottonl"
16 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
should break truce with him and his companion, to
the apprehensions of the garrison of that fortress when
they marched out on condition of heing permitted to
depart unmolested with their arms and property j but
were so terrified, on seeing the multitude and the rage
of their enemies, who cried, ' ' Stop them ! stop them !
kill them ! kill them ! " as they passed along, that they
submitted to be sent in irons, as prisoners, to Lucca, for
safeguard.
" Wherefore I moved right on towards my guide,
The devils marshalling themselves before,
For much I fear'd lest they should not keep faith :
So saw I once Caprona's garrison
Come trembling forth, upon capitulation,
To find themselves among so many foes.
I crouch'd with my whole frame beside my master,
Nor could I turn mine eyes away from watching
Their physiognomy, which was not good." *
During this active period of his citizenship, Dante
is stated to have been frequently employed on important
embassies ; and, among others, to the kings of Naples,
Hungary, and France; in all of which his eloquence
and address enabled him to acquit himself with honour
and advantage to his country : but as there is no allusion
in any of his works, even to the most distinguished of
these, it is very questionable whether the traditions are
not, in many cases, wholly unwarranted ; and probably
founded upon misapprehension of the verbiage and
bombast of Boccaccio, in his account of the political,
philosophical, and literary labours of his hero.
In the year 1300, Dante was chosen, by the suffrages
of the people, chief prior of his native city ; and from
that era of his arrival at the highest honour to which
* " Perch' i' mi mossi, e a lui venni ratto :
E i diavoli si fecer tutti avanti,
Si ch' io temetti non tenesser patto.
E cosi vid' io gia temer li fanti,
Ch' uscivan pattegiati di Caprona,
Veggendo se tra nemici cotanti.
I' m'accostai con tutta la persona
Lungo '1 mio duca, e non torceva gli occhi
IJullu sembianza lor, ch'era non buona."
DANTE ALIGHIEBI. 17
his ambition could aspire, he himself dated all the mi-
series which (like the file of evil spirits above men-
tioned) accompanied him thenceforward to the end of
his life. In one of his epistles, quoted by Aretino, he
says, — " All my calamities had their origin and occasion
in my unhappy priorship, of which, though I might
not for my wisdom have been worthy, yet on the ground
of age and fidelity was I not unworthy; ten years
having elapsed since the battle of Campaldino, in which
the Ghibelline party was routed and nearly exter-
minated; wherein, also, I proved myself no novice in
arms, but experienced great perils in the various fortunes
of the fight, and the highest gratification in the issue of
it." Since that triumph, the Guelfs had maintained
undisputed predominance in Tuscany ; but the citizens
of Florence split into two minor factions as bitterly
opposed to each other as the Guelfs and Ghibellines.
The following circumstance (considerably varied in
particulars by different narrators) has been men-
tioned as the origin of this schism : — Two branches of
the family of Cancellieri divided the patronage of Pis-
toia, which was then subject to Florence, between them.
The heads of these were Gulielmo and Bertaccio. In
playing at snow -balls, a son of the first happened to
give the son of the second a black eye. Gulielmo,
knowing the savage disposition of his kinsman, imme-
diately sent his son to offer submission for the unlucky
hit. Bertaccio, eager to avail himself of a pretext for
quarrelling with the rival section of his house, seized
the boy, and chopped off the hand which flung the snow-
ball, drily observing, that blows could only be compen-
sated by blows — not with words. Another version of
the story is, that the young gentlemen, quarrelling over
some game, drew their swords, when one wounded the
other in the face; in retribution for which, Foccacio,
brother to the latter, cut off his offending cousin's
hand. The father of the mutilated lad immediately
called upon his friends to avenge the inhuman outrage ;
Bertaccio's dependants not less promptly armed them-
VOL. i. c
18 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
selves to maintain his cause ; and a civil war was ready
to break out in the heart of the city. An ancestor
of the Cancellieri family having married a lady named
Bianchi, in honour of her one of the parties took the
denomination of Bianchi (whites), when the other, in
defiance, assumed the reverse, and styled themselves
Neri (blacks).
. This happened during the priorship of Dante, who,
with the approbation of his colleagues, summoned the
leaders of the antagonist factions to repair to Florence,
to prevent that extremity of violence with which they
threatened not Pistoia only, but the whole commonwealth.
This, as Leonardo Bruni observes, was importing the
plague to the capital, instead of taking means to repress
it upon the spot where it had already appeared. For it
so fell out, that Florence itself was principally under
the influence of two great families, — the Cerchi and the
Donati, — habitually jealous of one another, and each
watching for opportunity to obtain the ascendancy.
When, therefore, the hostages for preserving the peace of
Pistoia arrived, the Bianchi were hospitably entertained
by the Cerchi, and the Neri by the Donati ; the natural
consequence of which was, that the people of Florence
were far more annoyed by the acquisition, than those of
the neighbouring city were benefited by the riddance of
so troublesome a crew. What these incendiary spirits had
been doing in a small place, on a small scale, they forth-
with began to do on a large scale, in a large place.
Jealousies, fears, and antipathies were easily awakened
among the families with which the partisans respectively
associated. From these, through every rank of citizens
down to the lowest, the contagion spread ; first seizing
the youth, who were sanguine and restless, but soon
infecting persons of all ages; till every man who had a
mind or an arm to influence or to act, enlisted himself
with one side or the other. In the course of a few
months, from whisperings the discontents rose to cla-
mours, from words to blows, and from feuds in private
dwellings to battles in the streets ; so that not the me-
DANTE AL1GHIERI. 19
tropolis only, but the whole territory, became involved in
unnatural contention.
While this was in process, the heads of the Neri held
a meeting by night in the church of the Holy Trinity, at
which a plan was suggested to induce pope Boniface VIII.
to constitute Charles of Valois, (who was brother to
Philip the Fair, king of France, and then commanded
an army under his holiness against the emperor,) me-
diator of differences and reformer-general of abuses
in the state. The Bianchi, having received information
of this clandestine assembly, and the unpatriotic project
which had been devised at it, took grievous umbrage, and
went in a body, with arms in their hands, to the chief
prior, with whom they remonstrated sharply upon what
they deemed a privy conspiracy hatched for the purpose
of expelling themselves and their friends from the city;
at the same time demanding summary punishment on
the offenders. The Neri, alarmed in their turn, flew
likewise to arms, and assailed the prior with the same
complaint and demand reversed, — namely, that their
adversaries had plotted to drive them (the Neri) into
exile under false pretences; and requiring that they (the
Bianchi) should be sent into banishment, to preserve
the public tranquillity.
The danger was imminent, and prompt decision to
avert it indispensable. The prior and magistrates, there-
fore, by the advice of Dante their chief, who was the
Cicero in this double conspiracy, though neither so
politic nor so fortunate as his eloquent archetype,
appealed to the people at large to support the executive
government ; and, having conciliated their favour, ba-
nished the principal instigators of tumult on both sides,
including Corso Donati (Dante's wife's kinsman) of the
Neri party, who, with his accomplices, was confined in
the castle of Pieve in Perugia ; while Guido Cavalcanti
(Dante's own particular friend) and others of the Bianchi
faction were sent to Serrazana.
This disturbance, and the severe remedy necessary to
be adopted, painfully tried the best feelings of Dante,
c 2
20 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
who seems to have acted on truly independent principles
in the affair, though suspected at the time of favouring
the Bianchi. That, indeed, was prohahle ; for though as
chief magistrate he knew no man by his colours, yet,
being a genuine Florentine, — and such he remained
when Florence had banished and proscribed him, — he
could not but be opposed to so preposterous a scheme as
that of bringing in a stranger to lord it over his native
city, under pretence of assuaging the animosities of
malecontents, who cared for nothing but their own per-
sonal, family, or party aggrandisement, at the expense
of the common weal.
This apparent impartiality was openly arraigned, when
the Bianchi exiles were permitted to come back after a
short absence, while the Neri remained under proscrip-
tion. Dante vindicated himself by saying, that he had
attached himself to neither party ; that in condemning the
heads of both he had acted solely for the public safety ;
and at home had used his utmost endeavours to reconcile
the adverse families, who had implicated all their fellow-
citizens in their feuds. With respect to the return of
the Bianchi, he denied that it had been allowed on his
authority, his priorate having expired before that event
took place ; and, moreover, that their release had been
rendered necessary by the premature death of Guido
Cavalcanti, who had been killed by the pestilent air of
Serrazana. The pope, however, eagerly availed himself
of the opportunity as a plea for sending Charles of Valois
to Florence, to restore tranquillity by conciliation. That
prince accordingly entered the city in triumph at the
head of his troops, with a solemn assurance that liberty,
property, and personal safety should in no instance be
violated. \ In consequence of this he was well received by
the people; but he had no sooner seated himself in in-
fluence than he obtained the recall of the Neri, who were
his partisans. Then, having secured his authority by
their presence, he threw off the mask, and began to play
the part of dictator within the walls, as well as throughout
DANTE ALIGHIERI. 21
the adjacent territory, by causing 600 of the principal
men of the Bianchi to be driven forth into exile.
At the time of this expatriation of his friends, Dante
was absent, having undertaken an embassy to Rome to
solicit the good offices of the pope towards pacifying his
fellow- citizens without foreign interference. Boccaccio
records a singular specimen at once of his self-confidence,
and his disparagement of others, which, if true, betrays
the most un amiable feature of his character, and throws
additional light on a circumstance not otherwise^ well
accounted for, — why, with all his admirable qualities,
Dante was unhappy in domestic life, and in public life
made so many and such inveterate enemies. — When his
associates in the government proposed this embassy to
him, he haughtily enquired, — " If I go, who will stay?
If I stay, who will go ? " It was fortunate for the poet
that his holiness and himself, on this occasion, were un-
consciously playing at cross purposes, though he was
beaten in the game, — the very intervention which he
had gone to deprecate taking place whilst he was on the
journey. Had he been at home, it is not improbable
that death, rather than banishment with the Bianchi,
would have been his lot, from the exasperation of the
Neri against him individually, whom they regarded as
the chief agent in their disgrace and exile, as well as the
patron of their rivals. It is remarkable that the pretext
on which the failing party were now expelled was, that
they had secretly intrigued with Pietro Ferranti, the
confidant of Charles of Valois, to give him the castle of
Prato, on condition that he prevailed upon his master
to allow them the ascendancy under him in Florence.
Charles himself countenanced the accusation, and af-
fected high displeasure at the insulting offer, as dero-
gatory to his immaculate purity; though the purport of
it was no other than to concede to him the express object
of his ambition, if he would grant to the Bianchi faction
what he did grant to the perfidious Neri. A document
was long preserved as the genuine letter to Ferranti,
with the seals and signatures of the principal Bianchi
o 3
22 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
attached, containing the traitorous proposal ; but Leo-
nardo Aretino, who had himself seen it in the public
archives, declares his perfect conviction that it was a
forgery.
Of participation in such' baseness (had his partisans
been really guilty of it), Dante must stand clearly ac-
quitted by every one who takes his character from the
matter-of-fact statements, perverted as they are, of his
adversaries themselves, much more from the unim-
peachable evidence of his own writings ; — open, un-
daunted, high-spirited, and generous as a friend, he was
not less violent, acrimonious, and undisguisedly vindictive
as an enemy. So exasperated, however, were the Neri
against him, that they demolished his dwelling, confis-
cated his property, and decreed a fine of 8000 lire
against him, with banishment for two years ; not for
any crime of which he had been convicted, but under
pretence of contumacy, because he did not appear to a
citation which had been issued when they knew him to
be absent, — absent, it might be said, on their own bu-
siness (his mission to Rome), where he could not be
aware of the nature of his imputed offence till he heard
of the condign punishment with which it had been thus
prematurely visited. In the course of a few weeks a
further inculpation of Dante and his associates was pro-
mulged, under which they were condemned to perpetual
exile, with the merciless provision that, if any of them
thereafter fell into the hands of their persecutors, they
should be burnt ah've. And this execrable measure
seems to have been determined upon before the exiled
party had made any attempt, by force of arms, to re-
enter Florence.
When Dante was informed at Rome of the revolution
in Florence, he hastened to Siena, where, learning the
full extent of his misfortune, he was driven, it may be
said, by necessity to join himself to his homeless coun-
trymen in that neighbourhood, who were concerting
(though with little of mutual confidence, and miserably
inadequate means) how they might compel their fellow-
DANTE ALIOHIERI. 23
citizens to receive them back. Arezzo, the city of the
Aretines (with whom Dante had combated at Campal-
dino), afforded them an asylum, and became the head-
quarters of the Bianchi ; who thenceforward, from
being, like the Neri, Guelfs, transferred their affections,
or rather their wrongs and their vengeance, to the Ghibel-
lines ; deeming the adherents of the emperor less the ene-
mies of their country than their adversaries were. Their
affairs were managed by a council of twelve, of whom
Dante was one. Great numbers of malecontents from
Bologna, Pistoia, and the adjacent provinces of North-
ern Italy, gradually flocking to their standard, — in
the course of two years they were sufficiently strong
to take the field with a force of cavalry and foot ex-
ceeding 10,000, under count Alessandro da Romena, and
to commence active hostilities. By a bold and sudden
march, they attempted to surprise Florence itself, and
were so far successful that their advanced guard got pos-
session of one of the gates ; but the main body being
attacked and defeated on the outside of the walls, the
former gallant corps was overpowered by the garrison;
and the enterprise itself, after the campaign of a few
days, was abandoned altogether. Dante, according
to general belief, accompanied this unfortunate expe-
dition ; and so did Pietro Petracco, the father of the
celebrated Petrarca (Petrarch), who had been expelled
with the Bianchi from Florence ; and it is stated, that
on the very night on which the army of the exiles marched
against the city, Petracco's wife Eletta gave birth to the
poet who was to succeed Dante as the glory of his coun-
try's literature.
After this miscarriage Dante quitted the confederacy,
disgusted by the bickerings, jealousies, and bad faith of
the heterogeneous and unmanageable multitude, which
common calamities had driven together, but could not
cement by common interests. The poet refers to this
motley and discordant crew in the latter lines of the ce-
lebrated passage, in which he represents his ancestor,
Cacciaguida, as prophesying his future banishment with
c 4
24* LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
the miseries and mortifications which he should suffer
from the ingratitude of his countrymen : —
" For thou must leave behind thee every thing
Thine heart holds dearest This will be the first
Shaft which the bow of exile shoots against thee :
And thou must prove how salt the bread that's eaten
At others' tables, and how hard the path
To climb and to go down a stranger's stairs :
But what shall weigh the heaviest on thy shoulders,
Will be the base and evil company
With which thy lot hath cast thee in that valley ;
For every thankless, lawless, reckless wretch
Shall turn against thee : — yet confusion, soon,
Of face shall cover them, not thee, with blushes ;
Their brutishness will be so manifest,
That to have stood alone will be thy glory."*
Del Paradiso, xvii
To the personal humiliations of which he chewed the
cud in bitter secrecy, through years of heart-breaking
dependence on the precarious bounty of others, there is
a striking but forced allusion at the close of the eleventh
canto of the " Purgatorio." Dante enquires concerning
a proud spirit bent double under a huge burden of stones,
which he is condemned to carry for as many years as he
had lived, till he shall be sufficiently humbled to pass
muster through the flames into Paradise. This is Pro-
venzano Salvani, who for his acts of outrageous tyranny
would have been doomed to a much harder penance, but
for one good deed. — A friend of his being kept prisoner
* " Tu lascerai ogni cosa diletta
Piii caramente ; e questo fc quello strale,
Che 1'arco dell' esilio pria saetta.
Tn proverai & come sa di sale
Lo pane altrui, e com'e duro calle
Lo scendere, e '1 salir JUT 1 'altrui scale.
E quel, che piil ti gravera le spalle,
Sara la carnpagnia malvagia e scempia,
Con la qual tu cadrai in questa valle :
Che tutta ingrata, tutta matta ed empia
Si fara contra te : ma poco appresso
Ella, non tu, n'avr& rossa la tempia.
Di sua bestialitate il suo processo
Far£ la pruova, si ch' a te fia bello
Avert! fatta parte per te stesso."
DANTE ALIGHIERI. 25
by Charles of Anjou, and threatened with death unless
a ransom of 10,000 golden florins were paid for his free-
dom, Salvani so far degraded himself as to stand (to kneel,
say some,) in the, public market-place of Siena, with a
carpet spread on the ground before him, imploring, with
the cries and importunity of a common beggar,, the
charitable contributions of every passenger towards
raising the required sum. This he accomplished, and
his friend was saved.
" ' He in his height of glory,' said the other,
« Casting aside all shame, spontaneously,
Stood in the market of Siena, begging j
He, to redeem his friend from infamy
And death, in Charles's dungeons, did what made him
Tremble through every vein. — No more ; my speech
Is dark ; thy countrymen, ere long, will do
That which will help thee to interpret it." *
In despair of being able to force his way, sword in
hand, back to Florence, Dante next endeavoured, by
supplicating the good offices of individuals connected
with the government, by expostulatory addresses to the
people, and even by appeals to foreign princes, to obtain
a reversal of his unrighteous sentence. Disappointment,
however, followed upon disappointment, till, hope de-
ferred having made the heart sick, he grew so impatient
under the sense of wrong and ignominy, that he again
had recourse to the summary but perilous redress of
violence; — not indeed by force which he could com-
mand, though one in a million for energy, courage, and
perseverance ; but a powerful auxiliary having ap-
peared in 1308, he gave up his whole soul to the main
object of his desire at this time, — the chastisement of his
inexorable fellow-citizens. Henry of Luxembourg, having
* " Quando vivea pito glorioso, disse,
Liberamente nel campo di Siena,
Ogni vergogna deposta, s'affisse :
Egli, per trar 1'amico suo di pena,
Che sostenea nella prigion di Carlo,
Si condusse a tremar per ogni vena.
Piu non dirb, e scuro so che parlo ;
Ma poco tempo andi a, che i tuoi vicini
Faranno si che tu potrai chiosarlo."
26 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
been raised to the throne of Germany, eagerly engaged,
like his predecessors, in the delusive contest for the
"iron crown" of Italy, though " Luke's iron crown"*
(placed red hot on the brow of an unsuccessful aspirant
to that of Hungary) was hardly more painful or more
certainly fatal than this, except that it was far more
expeditious in putting the wearer out of torture. Dante
now rose from the dust of self-abasement, openly pro-
fessed himself a Ghibelline, and changed his tones of
supplication into those of menace against his refractory
countrymen. Henry himself denounced terrible retri-
bution upon the Guelfs, and at the head of an army
invaded the Florentine territory ; from which, however,
lie was compelled to make an early retreat ; and the
magnificent flourish of drums and trumpets, with which
the imperial actor entered, was followed by a dead
march, that closed the scene before he had turned round
upon the stage — except to hurry away. He died in
1313, poisoned, it was reported, by a consecrated wafer.
To this prince Dante dedicated his political treatise, in
Latin, " De Monarchia," in which he eloquently asserts
the rights of the emperor in Italy against the usurpations
of the pope. He has been accused of exciting Henry
to abandon the siege of Brescia, and undertake that of
Florence ; though, from regard to his native land, he
himself forebore to accompany the expedition. He had
affected no such scruple when the Bianchi, like trodden
worms, turned upon the parent foot which spurned
them from the soil where they were bred. There must,
therefore, have been some other motive than patriotism,
— nobody will suspect that it was cowardice, — which re-
strained him from witnessing the expected humiliation
of his persecutors.
Several of his biographers state, that after this con-
summation of his ruin, — a third decree having been
passed against him at Florence, — the poet retired into
France, and strove to reconcile his unsubdued spirit to
his fate, or to forget both it and himself in those fashion-
* See Goldsmith's Traveller, towards the end.
DANTE ALIOHIERI. 27
able theological controversies, for which he was, perhaps,
better qualified than either for the council-chamber or
the battle-field. This, however, is doubtful, and, in
fact, very improbable, when we recollect that, next to
the malice of the Neri, he was indebted for his mis-
fortunes to Charles of Valois, their patron, who was
brother to Philip the Fair, king of France. Be this as
it may, the remainder of Dante's life was spent in wan-
dering from one petty court to another, in exile and
poverty, accepting the means of subsistence, almost as
alms, from lukewarm friends, from hospitable strangers,
and even from generous adversaries. Hence we trace
him, at uncertain periods, through Lombardy, Tuscany,
and Romagna, as an admitted, welcomed, admired, or
merely a tolerated guest, according to the liberality or
caprice of his patrons for the time being. Little more
can be recorded of these " evil days" and " years," of
which he was compelled to say, " 1 have no pleasure
in them," than a few questionable anecdotes of his
caustic humour, and the names of some of those who
showed him kindness in his affliction.
Among the latter may be honourably mentioned
Busone da Gubbio, who first afforded him shelter
at Arezzo, whither he himself had been banished from
Florence as an incorrigible Ghibelline ; but being a
brother poet, he was too noble to let political prejudice
(Dante was at that time a Guelf) interfere either with
his compassion towards an illustrious fugitive, or his ve-
neration for those rare talents which ought every where
to have raised the unhappy possessor above contempt,
though, in some instances, they seem to have exposed
him to it. Yet he knew well how to resent indignity.
While residing at Verona with Can' Grande de la Scala
(one of his most distinguished protectors), it happened
one day, according to the rude usages of those times,
that the prince's jester, or some casual buffoon about the
palace, was introduced at table, to divert the high-born
company there with his waggeries. In this the arch
fellow succeeded so egregiously, that Dante, from scorn
28 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
or mortification, showed signs of chagrin, whereupon
Can' Grande sarcastically asked, — " How comes it, Dante,
that you, with all your learning and genius, cannot
delight me and my friends half so much as this fool
does with his ribaldry and grimaces?" — " Because
like loves like" was the pithy retort of the poet, in the
phrase of the proverb. Another story of the kind is
told by Cinthio Geraldi. — On occasion of a jovial enter-
tainment, Can' Grande, or his jester, had placed a little
boy under the table,, to gather all the bones that were
thrown down upon the floor by the guests, and lay them
about the feet of Dante. After dinner these were un-
expectedly shown above board, as tokens of his feasting
prowess. " You have done great things to day ! " ex-
claimed the prince, affecting surprise at such an ex-
hibition. " Far otherwise," returned the poet ; " for
if I had been a dog, (Cane, his patron's name,) I
should have devoured bones and all, as it appears you
have done."*
Other grandees, who gave the indignant wanderer an
occasional asylum from the blasts of persecution, were
the marchese Malespina, who, though belonging to the
antagonist party, cordially entertained him in Lunigiana;
the conte Guido Salvatico, of Cassentino ; the signori
della Faggiuolo, among the mountains of Urbino ; and
also the fathers of the monastery of Santa Croce di Fonte
Avellana, in the district of Gubbio. In this romantic
retreat, according to the Latin inscription under a
marble bust of him against a wall in one of the cham-
bers, Dante is recorded to have written a considerable
portion of the " Divina Commedia." In a tower be-
longing to the conti Falucci, in the same territory,
there is a tradition that he was often employed in the
like manner. At the castle of Tulmino, the residence of
* A silly practical joke, which has probably been often repeated in such
parties, as it much resembles one told by Josephus respecting the young
Hyrcanus. In fact, there is scarcely " a good thing" of this base class,
which, on investigation, does not beconfe apocryphal from too much evi-
dence.
DANTE ALIOIIIERI. 29
the patriarch of Aquileia, a rock has been pointed out as
a favourite resort of the inspired poet, while engaged
in that marvellous and melancholy composition.
" There, nobly pensive, Dante sat and thought."
Marius, banished from his country, and resting upon the
ruins of Carthage, may have appeared a more august and
mournful object ; but Dante, in exile, want, and degrad-
ation, on a lonely crag, meditating thoughts, combining
images, and creating a language for both in which they
should for ever speak, presents a far more sublime and
touching spectacle of fallen grandeur renovating itself
under decay. Marius, having " mewed his mighty
youth," flew back to Rome like the eagle to his quarry,
surfeited himself with vengeance, and died in a debauch
of blood, leaving a name to be execrated through all
generations : Dante did not return to Florence ; living
or dead he did not return ; but his name, cast out and
abhorred as it had been, stands the earliest and the
greatest of a long line of Tuscan poets, rivalling the most
illustrious of their country, not excepting those of even
Rome and Ferrara.
Dante's last and most magnanimous patron was Guido
Novello da Polenta, lord of Ravenna, who was himself
a poet, and a munificent benefactor of men of letters.
This nobleman was the father of Francesca di Rimini,
whose fatal love has given her a place on the most splen-
did page of the " Divina Commedia ;" no other episode
being told with equal beauty and pathos : yet so brief
and simple is the narrative, that, even if the circum-
stances were as unexceptionably pure as they are insidi-
ously delicate, translation ought hardly to be attempted ;
for the labour would be fruitless. Dante himself could
not have given his masterpiece in precisely correspond-
ing terms in another language ; though, had any other
been his own, it need not be doubted that in it he would
have found words to tell his tale as well. It is not what
a poet finds a language to be, but what he makes it,
30 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
that constitutes the charm, not to be imitated, of his
style. This is the despair of translators, though few
seem to have suspected the existence of such a secret.
The mental sufferings of the poet during his nine,
teen years of banishment, ending in death, oftener find
utterance, through his writings, in bitter invectives and
prophetic denunciations against his enemies and tra-
ducers, than in strains of lamentation ; yet would his
wounds bleed afresh, and the anguish of his spirit be
renewed with all the tenderness of wronged but passionate
attachment, at every endeared recollection of the land of
his nativity; — the city where he had been cradled and had
grown up — where Beatrice was born, beloved, and bu-
ried— where he had himself attained the highest honours
of the state, and, in his own esteem, deserved the lasting
gratitude of his fellow-citizens, instead of experiencing
their implacable hatred. Haughty yet humbled, vin-
dictive yet forgiving, it is manifest, even in his darkest
moods, that his heart yearned for reconciliation ; that he
pined in home- sickness wherever he went, and would
gladly have renounced all his wrath, and submitted
to any self-denial consistent with honour, to be re-
ceived back into his country. For, much as he loved
the latter, — nay, madly as he loved it in his paroxysms
of exasperation, — he wrapt himself up tighter in the
mantle of his integrity as the storm raged more vehe-
mently ; and, as the conflict went harder against him,
grasped his honour, like his sword, never to be sur-
rendered but with life : to preserve these, he submitted
to lose all beside.
Boccaccio says, that, at a certain time, some friend
obtained from the Florentine government leave for
Dante to return, on condition that he should remain
a while in prison, then do penance at the principal church
during a festival solemnity, and afterwards be exempt
from further punishment for his offences against the
state. As might be expected, he spurned the igno-
minious terms. A letter, preserved in the Laurentian
DANTE ALIGHIEBI. 31
library *, seems to refer to this circumstance, which,
till the modern discovery of that document, required
stronger testimony than the random verbiage of Boc-
caccio to confirm its credibility. It is addressed to a cor-
respondent at Florence, whom the writer styles " father."
The following are extracts ; the original is in Latin.
Having alluded to some overtures for pardon and return,
nearly corresponding with those above mentioned, he
proceeds : —
" Can such a recall to his country, after fifteen years' exile,
be glorious to Dante Alighieri? Has innocence, which is
manifest to every one, — have toil and fatigue in perpetuated
studies, merited this ? Away from the man trained up in
philosophy, the dastard humiliation of an earth-born heart, that,
like some petty pretender to knowledge, or other base wretch,
he should endure to be delivered up in chains ! Away from
the man who demands justice, the thought that, after having
suffered wrong, he should make terms by his money with those
who have injured him, as though they had done righteously !
— No, father ! this is not the way of return to my country
for me. Yet, if you, or any body else, can find another which
shall not compromise the fame and the honour of Dante, I will
not be slow to take it. But if by such an one he may not
return to Florence, — to Florence he will never return. What
then ? May I not every where behold the sun and the stars ?
Can I not every where under heaven meditate on the most
noble and delightful truths, without first rendering myself in-
glorious, aye infamous, before the people and city of Florence,
— and this, for fear I should want bread ! "
Far different return to Florence, and far other scene
in his favourite church there, had he sometimes ventured
to anticipate as possible. This we learn from the open-
ing of the twenty-fifth canto of the " Paradiso," where,
even in the presence of Beatrice and St. Peter, he thus
unbosoms the long-cherished hope ; conscious of high
desert, as well as grievous injustice, which he would
nevertheless most fervently forgive, could restoration to
his country be obtained on terms " consistent with the
fame and honour of Dante."
* Sec the Edinburgh Review, voLxxx. p. 349.
32 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
" If e'er the sacred song, which heaven and earth
Have lent a hand to frame, — which, many a year,
Hath kept me lean with thought, — o'ercome the rage
That bars re-entrance to the lovely fold,
Where, like a lamb, I slept ; the foe of wolves,
Waging inveterate war against its life ;
With other voice, with other fleece, will I
Return, a poet, and receive the laurel
At that baptismal font, where I was brought
Into the faith which makes souls dear to God." *
In the same church here alluded to (San Giovanni),
at Florence, there remained till lately a stone-remem-
brancer of Dante, in his prosperous days, scarcely less
likely than " storied urn or animated hust," to awaken
that sweet and voluntary sadness by which we love to
associate dead things with the memory of those who
once have lived. This was no other than an ancient
bench of masonry which ran along the wall,
" South of the church, east of the belfry-tower,"
on which, according to long-believed tradition, the future
poet of the other world was wont to
" Sit conversing in the sultry time,"
with those,
" Who little thought that in his hand he held
The balance, and assign'd, at his good pleasure,
To each his place in the invisible world."
ROGERS'S Italy.
Here also, according to his own record, in rescuing a
child which had fallen into the water, he accidentally
broke one of the baptismal fonts, — a circumstance which
seems to have been maliciously misrepresented as an
* " Se mai continga che '1 poema sacro,
Al quale ha posto raano e cielo e terra,
SI che m' ha fatto per pift anni macro,
Vinca la crudelta, che fuor mi serra
Del bello ovile, ov' io dormV agnello
Nimico a' lupi, che gli danno guerra ;
Con altra voce omai, con altro vello
Ritornert) poeta, ed in sul fonte
Del mio battesmo prender6 '1 capcllo ;
Perocche nella fede, che fa conte
. L'animea Dio."
DANTE ALIOHIEBI. S3
act of wilful sacrilege. His stern anxiety to clear
himself is characteristically indicated hy the brief but
dignified attestation of the real fact, in the last line of the
following singular parallel between objects not other-
wise likely to be brought into comparison with each
other. Describing the wells in which, head-downward,
simoniacal offenders (among the rest pope Nicholas III.)
were tormented with flames, that glanced from heel to
toe along the up-turned soles of their feet, he says, —
" The sides and bottom of that livid rock
Were scoop'd into round holes, of equal size,
Which seem'd not less nor larger than the fonts
For baptism, in my beautiful St. John's ;
And one of which, not many years ago,
I broke to save a drowning child from death :
— Be this my seal to undeceive the world." *
Deli' Inferno, canto xix.
Dante resided several years at Ravenna, with the
noble-minded Guido da Polenta, who, of his own accord,
had invited him thither, and who, to the last moment of
his life, made him feel no other burden in his service
than gratitude for benefits bestowed with such a grace as
though the giver, and not the receiver, were laid under
obligation. By him being sent on an embassy to Venice,
with the government of which Guido had an unhappy
dispute, Dante not only failed to accomplish a reconci-
liation, but was even refused an audience, and compelled to
return by land for fear of the enemy's fleet, which had
already commenced hostilities along the coast. He ar-
rived at Ravenna broken-hearted with the disappoint-
ment, and died soon afterwards, — according to his
epitaph, on the 14th of September, 1321, though some
authorities date his demise in July preceding.
• " I' vidi per Ic coste, e per lo fondo,
Piena la pietra livida di fori
D'un largo tutti, e ciascuno era tpndo.
Non mi paren meno ampj, ne maggiori,
Che quei, che son nel raio bel San Giovanni,
Fatti per iuogp de* battezzatori ;
If un degli quali, ancor non £ molt' anni,
Rupp' io per un, che dentro v'annegava ;
E questo sia suggel, ch' ogni uomo sgannL"
VOL. I. D
34> LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
The remains of the illustrious poet were buried with
a splendour honourable to his name and worthy of
his patron, who himself pronounced the funeral eulogium
of his departed guest. His own countrymen, who had
hardened their hearts against justice and humanity, in
resistance of his return amongst them while living, soon
after his death became sensible of their folly, and too
late repented it. Embassy on embassy, during the two
succeeding centuries, failed to recover the bones of their
outcast fellow-citizen from his hospitable entertainers;
and Florence has less to boast of in having given him
birth, than Ravenna for having given him burial. One
of those fruitless negotiations was conducted under the
auspices of Leo X., and *nore illustriously sanctioned by
Michael Angelo, an enthusiastic admirer of Dante,
who offered to adorn the shrine, had the desired relics
been obtained. The mighty sculptor, — himself the
Dante of marble, simple, severe, sublime in style, and
preternatural almost from the fulness of reality con-
densed in his ideal forms, — in many of his works, both of
the chisel and the pencil, introduced figures suggested by
images of the poet, or directly embodying such. Most
conspicuous among these were the statues of Leah and
Rachel, from the twenty-seventh canto of the " Pur-
gatorio," on the monument of pope Julius II. His own
copy of the " Divina Commedia " was embellished down
the margin with sketches from the subjects of the text ;
and, had it been preserved, would surely have been
classed with the most precious of those books for which
collectors are eager to give ten times or more their weight
in gold. The fate of this volume was not less singular
than its good fortune; after having been made ines-
timable by the hand of Michael Angelo, it was lost at
sea, and thus added to the treasures of darkness one of
the richest spoils that ever went down from the light.
, It was the purpose of Guido da Polenta to erect a
gorgeous sepulchre over the ashes of the poet ; but he
neither reigned nor lived to accomplish this, being soon
afterwards driven from his dominions, and dying himself
DANTE ALIGHIER1. 35
a banished man at Bologna. More than a hundred and
fifty years later, Bernardo Bembo, father of the famous
cardinal, completed Polenta's design, though upon an
inferior scale ; and three centuries more had elapsed, when
cardinal Gonzaga raised a second and far more sump-
tuous monument in the same place, — Ravenna; while
in Florence, to this day, there is none worthy of itself or
the poet, who had been in turn " its glory and its
shame." The greatest honours conferred on his memory
by his native city were, the restoration to his family of
his confiscated property, after a lapse of forty years, the
erection of a bust crowned with laurel, at the public
expense, a present from the state of ten golden florins to
his daughter by the hands of Boccaccio, and the ap-
pointment of a public lecturer to expound the mysteries
of the " Divina Commedia." Boccaccio was the first
professor who filled this chair of poetry, philosophy, and
theology. He commenced his dissertations on a Sunday,
in the church of St. Stephen, but died at the end of two
years, having proceeded no further than the seventeenth
Canto of the " Inferno." Similar institutions were
adopted in Bologna, Pisa, Venice, and other Italian
towns ; so that the renown of the man who had lived
by sufferance, died an outlaw, and been indebted to
strangers for a grave, exceeded, within two centuries,
that of all his countrymen who in polite literature had
gone before him, and became the load-star of all who,
in any age, should follow. At Rome only the memory
of the Ghibelline bard was execrated, and his writings
were proscribed. His book " De Monarchia" was pub-
licly burnt there, by order of pope John XXII.. who also
sent a cardinal to the successor of Guido da Polenta, to
demand his bones, that they might be dealt with as
those of an heretic, and the ashes scattered on the wind.
How impotent is the vengeance of the great after the
death of the object of their displeasure ! What a refuge,
especially to fame, is the grave ; a sanctuary which can
never be violated; for all human passions die on its
threshold !
D 2
36 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Boccaccio, the earliest of his biographers, though not
the most authentic, says, that in person Dante was of
middle stature; that he stooped a little from the
shoulders, and was remarkable for his firm and graceful
gait. He always dressed in a manner peculiarly be-
coming his rank and years. His visage was long, with
an aquiline nose, and eyes rather full than small ; his
cheek-bones large, and his upper lip projecting beyond
the under ; his complexion was dark ; his hair and
beard black, thick and curled ; and his countenance
exhibited a confirmed expression of melancholy and
thoughtfulness. Hence one day, at Verona, as he
passed a gateway, where several ladies were seated, one
of them exclaimed, " There goes the man who can take
a walk to hell, and back again, whenever he pleases,
and bring us news of every thing that is doing there."
On which another, with equal sagacity, added, " That
must be true ; for don't you see how his beard is friz-
zled, and his face browned, with the heat and the
smoke below !" The words, whether spoken in sport
or silliness, were overheard by the poet, who, as the
fair slanderers meant no malice,, was quite willing that
they should please themselves with their own fancies.
Towards the opening of the " Purgatorio" there is an
allusion to the soil which his face had contracted on his
journey with Virgil through the nether world : —
" High morn had triumphed o'er the glimmering dawn
Which fled before her, so that I discern'd
The tremble of the ocean from afar :
We walk'd along the solitary plain,
Like men retracing their erratic steps,
Who think all lost till they regain the path.
Arriving where the dew-drops with the sun
Contended, and lay thick beneath the shade,
Both hands my master delicately spread
Upon the grass : — aware of his intent,
I turn'd to him my tearful countenance,
And thence he wiped away the dusky hue,
With which the infernal air had sullied it." *
* " L' alba vinceva 1' ora mattutina,
Che fuggia 'nnanzi, si die di lontano
Conobbi il tremolar del la manna :
DANTE ALIGHIERI. 37
In his studies, Dante was so eager, earnest, and
indefatigable, that his wife and family often complained
of his unsocial habits. Boccaccio mentions, that once,
when he was at Siena, having unexpectedly found at
a shop window a book which he had not seen, but
had long coveted, he placed himself on a bench be-
fore the door, at nine o'clock in the morning, and
never lifted up his eyes from the volume till vespers,
when he had run through the whole contents with such
intense application, as to have totally disregarded the
festivities of processions and music which had been
passing through the streets the greater part of the day ;
and when questioned about what had happened even in
his presence, he denied having had knowledge of any
thing but what he was reading. As might be expected
from his other habits, he rarely spoke, except when
personally addressed, or strongly moved, and then his
words were few, well chosen, weighty, and expressed in
tones of voice accommodated to the subject. Yet when
it was required, his eloquence brake forth with spon-
taneous felicity, splendour, and exuberance of diction,
imagery, and thought.
Dante delighted in music. The most natural and
touching incident in his ie Purgatorio " is the interview
between himself and his friend Casella ; an eminent
singer in his day, who must, notwithstanding, have been
forgotten within his century, but for the extraordinary
good fortune which has befallen him, to be celebrated
by two of the greatest poets of their respective countries,
(Dante and Milton) from whose pages his name cannot
soon perish.
Nqi andavam per lo solingo piano,
Com* uom, che torna alia smaritta strada,
Che "nfino ad essa li pare ire invano.
Otiando noi fuinmo, dove la rugiada
Pugna col sole, e per essere in parte
Ove adorezza, poco si dirada,
Ambo le mani in su 1'erbetta sparte
Soavemente '1 mio maestro pose ;
Ond' io che fui accorto di su1 arte,
Porsi ver lui le guance lagrimose ;
Quivi mi fece tutto discoverto
Quel color, che I'inferno mi nascoso."
D 3
38 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Choosing to excel in all the elegancies of life, as well
as in gentlemanly exercises and intellectual prowess,
Dante attached himself to painting not less than to
music, and practised it with the pencil (not, indeed, si)
triumphantly as with the pen, his picture-poetry being
unrivalled,) with sufficient facility and grace to make it
a favourite amusement in private ; and none can believe
that he could amuse himself with what was worthless.
His four celebrated contemporaries, Cimabue, Odorigi,
Franco Bolognese, and Giotto, are all honourably men-
tioned by him in the eleventh canto of the (C Purgatorio."
There is an interesting allusion to the employment
which he loved in the " Vita Nuova: — " On the day
that completed the year after this lady (Beatrice) had
been received among the denizens of eternal life, while
I was sitting alone, and recalling her form to my
remembrance, I drew an angel on a certain tablet,"
&c. It may be incidentally observed, that Dante's
angels are often painted with unsurpassable beauty as
well as inexhaustible variety of delineation throughout
his poem, especially in canto ix. of the " Inferno,"'
and cantos ii. viii. xii. xv. xvii. xxiv. of the " Purga-
torio." Take six lines of one of these portraits ; though
the inimitable original must consume the unequal ver-
sion.
" A noi venia la creatura bella,
Bianco vestita, e nella faccia, quale
Par, tremolando, mattutina stella:
Le braccia aperse, e indi aperse 1' ale ;
Disse ; ' Venite ; qui son presso i gradi,
E agevolmente omai si sale.' "
Dell' Purgatorio, canto xii.
" That being came, all beautiful, to meet us,
Clad in white raiment, and the morning star
Appear'd to tremble in his countenance ;
His arms he spread, and then he spread his wings
And cried, « Come on, the steps are near at hand,
And here the ascent is easy.' "
Leonardo Aretino, who had seen Dante's handwriting,
mentions, with no small commendation, that the letters
DANTE ALIOHIEBI. 39
were long, slender, and exceedingly distinct, — the
characteristics of what is called in ornamental writing
a fine Italian hand. The circumstance may seem small,
but it is not insignificant as a finishing stroke in the
portraiture of one who, though he was the first poet
unquestionably, and not the last philosopher, was also
one of the most accomplished gentlemen of his age.
Two of Dante's sons, Pietro and Jacopo, inherited a
portion of their father's spirit, and were among the first
commentators on his works, — an inestimable advantage
to posterity, since the local and personal histories were
familiar to them; for had these not been explained by
contemporaries, many of the brief and more exquisite
allusions must have been irrecoverably lost, and some of
the most affecting passages remained as uninterpretable
as though they had been carved on granite in hierogly-
phics. For example, in the fifth canto of the " Pur-
gatorio/' the travellers meet three spirits together, — the
first, Giacopo del Cassero of Fano, who had been
assassinated by order of a prince of Ferrara, for having
spoken ill of his highness; — the second, Buonconte, of
Montefeltro, who had fallen fighting on the side of the
Aretines, in the battle of Campaldino ; and for whose
soul a singular contention took place between a good
angel and an evil one, in which the former happily pre-
vailed ; — the third shade was that of a female of rank,
who, having quietly waited till the two gentlemen had
told their tales, thus emphatically hinted hers : —
" Ah ! when thou hast return'd to yonder world,
And art reposing from thy long, long journey,
Remember me, for I am Pia : —
* # * *
Siena gave me birth, Maremma death,
And this he knows, who, with his ring and jewel,
But newly had espoused me."*
* " Deh, quando tu sarai tomato al mondo,
£ riposato della lunga via,
* • * «
Ricorditi di me, che son la Pia :
Siena mi fe' ; disfecemi Maremma;
Salsi colui, che 'nnanellata pria,
Disposando m'avea con la sua gemma.",
D 4
40 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
This unfortunate lady was the bride of Nello della
Pietra, a grandee of Siena, who, becoming jealous
of her, removed his predestined victim to the putrid
marshes of Maremma, where she soon drooped and
died, without suspicion on her part, or intimation on
his, of the hideous purpose for which she had been hur-
ried thither ; her gloomy keeper, with a dreadful eye,
watching her life go out like a lamp in a charn el- vault,
and after her death abandoning himself to despair. — One
of Dante's sons above mentioned (Pietro) was an emi-
nent lawyer at Verona, and enjoyed the friendship of
Petrarch, who dedicated some lines to him, at Trevizi,
in 1361. Jacopo is said to have been a writer of Italian
verse. Of three others, almost nothing is known, ex-
cept that they died young. His daughter Beatrice, so
named after his first love, took the veil in the convent
of St. Stefano del' Uliva, at Ravenna.
Dante was the author of two Latin treatises, — the
one already noticed, " De Monarchia ;" and another,
te De Vulgari Eloquio," on the structure of language
in general, and that of Italy in particular. But for his
celebrity he is indebted solely to his productions in the
latter tongue, consisting of " La Vita Nuova," a reverie
of fact and fable, in prose and rhyme, referring to his
youthful love ; — <f Canzoni * and Sonnets " of which
his lady was the eternal theme; — " II Convito," a cri-
tical and mystical commentary on three of his lyrics ; —
and the " Divina Commedia, or Vision of Hell, Purga-
tory, and Paradise," by the glory of which its forerunners
have been at once eclipsed and kept in mid- day splen-
dour, instead of glimmering through that doubtful twi-
light of obscure fame among the feeble productions of
contemporaries, which must have been their lot but for
such fortunate alliance.
The prose of the (l Vita Nuova" and the et Convito" is
* £anzoni are the larger odes of the Italians, composed according to cer-
tain strict but exquisite rules ; which, when rightly observed, give admir-
able harmony and proportion to what may be called" the architecture of the
thoughts : the stanzas resembling columns of the most perfect symmetry,
which may be infinitely diversified, and of considerable length, each new
form constituting what may be termed a different order.
DANTE ALIGHIEBI. 41
deemed, at this day, not only nervous and racy, but in a
high degree pure and elegant Italian; while much greater
praise may he unhesitatingly bestowed upon his verse.
Whether employed upon the arbitrary structure of Can-
zoni, the love-knot form of the sonnet, or the intermin-
able chain of terse rime, (the triple intertwisted rhyme of
the "DivinaCommedia," which Dante is supposed to have
invented,) his language is not more antiquated to his
countrymen than the English of Shakspeare is to ours.
The limits of the present essay preclude further notice
of his lyrics than the general remark, that they have all
the stately, brief, sententious character of his heroics,
with occasional strokes of natural tenderness, and not
unfrequently exhibit a delicacy of thought so pure,
graceful, and unaffected, that Petrarch himself has sel-
dom reached it in his more ornate and laboured com-
positions.
Dante did more than either his predecessors or contem-
poraries had done to improve, ennoble, and refine his
native idiom ; indeed he was wont to speak indignantly
of those who would degrade it below the Provencal, the
fashionable vehicle of verse in that age of transition,
when the young languages of modern Europe, begotten
between the stern tongues of the north and the classic
ones of the south, were growing up together, on both
sides of the Alps and the Pyrenees, like children in ri-
valry of each other, as the nations that spoke them
respectively, so often intermingled in war or in peace.
At the close of canto xxvi. of the " Purgatorio," Arnauld
Daniel is introduced as the master-minstrel of the age
gone by, singing some lines in a " Babylonish dialect,"
partly Provencal and partly Catalonian ; pitting infa-
mous French against the worst kind of Spanish (accord-
ing to P. P. Venturi); and these certainly present a
striking contrast of barbarous dissonance with the full-
toned Tuscan of the context.
Like our Spenser, Dante took many freedoms with the
extant Italian, which no later writer could have used.
For the sake of euphony, emphasis, or rhyme, he occa-
42 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
sionally modified words and terminations to serve a
present purpose only, and which he himself rejected
elsewhere. In this he was justified : he ran through
the whole compass of his native vocabulary, he tried
every note of the diapason, and all that were most pure,
harmonious,, or energetic, he sanctioned, by employing
them in his song, which gave them a voice through after
ages, so that few, comparatively very few, have been
entirely rejected by his most fastidious successors. It
was well for the poetry of his country that he wrote
his immortal work in its language; for neither Petrarch
nor Boccaccio could have gone so far as they did in
perfecting it, if they had not had so great a model,
not to equal only but to excel. They, indeed, affected
to think little of their vernacular writings, and pretended
merely to amuse themselves with such compositions as
every body could read. Dante himself began his poem
in Latin; and if he had gone forward, the finishing
stroke of the last line would have been a coup-de-grace,
which it could never have survived.*
Of the origin of the " Divina Commedia" it would
be in vain to speculate here ; the author himself, pro-
bably, could not have traced the first idea. Such con-
ceptions neither come by inspiration nor by chance : —
* Lord Byron, in his poem, " The Prophecy of Dante," (canto ii.) has
the following noble apostrophe, which, as it refers to the subject of the
foregoing paragraph, and affords a fine English specimen of the terxe rimet
in which the Divina Commedia is composed, cannot be more opportunely
introduced than in this place : —
" Italia! ah ! to me such things, foreshown
With dim sepulchral light, bid me forget
In thine irreparable wrongs my own :
We can have but one country, — and even yet
Thou 'rt mine — my bones shall be within thy breast,
My soul within thy language, which once set
With our old Roman sway in the wide West ;
But I will make another tongue arise
As lofty and more sweet, in which exprest
The hero's ardour, or the lover's sighs,
Shall find alike such sounds for every theme,
That every word, as brilliant as thy skies,
Shall realise a poet's proudest dream,
And make thee Europe's nightingale of song ;
So that all present speech to thine shall seem
The note of meaner birds, and every tongue
Confess its barbarism when compared with thine.
This shall thou owe to him thou didst so wrong,-
The Tuscan Bard, the banish'd Ghibelline."
DANTE ALIGHIEBI. 43
who can recollect the moment when he began to think,
yet all his thoughts have been consecutively allied to that ?
Many visions and allegories had appeared before Dante's;
and in several of these were gross representations of the
spiritual world, especially of purgatory, the reality of
which, during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, was
urged upon credulity with extraordinary zeal and perse-
verance by a corrupt hierarchy. By all these rather than
by one his mind might have been prepared for the
work.
Seven cantos of the " Inferno" are understood to
have been written before the author's banishment ; it is
manifest, however, that if this were the case they must
have been considerably altered after wards ; indeed the
whole character of the poem, however the original out-
line may have been followed, must have undergone a
very remarkable, and (afflictive as the occasion may
have been for himself) a very auspicious change, from his
misfortunes. To the latter, his poem owes many of its
most splendid passages, and almost all its personal in-
terest ; an interest wherein consists, if not its principal,
its prevailing and preserving charm. Had the whole
been composed in prosperity, amidst honours, and afflu-
ence, and learned ease, in his native city, it would no
doubt have been a mighty achievement of genius ; but
much that enhances and endears both its moral and its
fable could never have been suggested, indeed would not
have existed, under happier circumstances. That moral,
indeed, is often as mistaken as that fable is monstrous ;
but the one and the other should be judged according to
the times. The poet's romantic and unearthly love to
Beatrice would have wanted that sombre and terrible
relief which is now given to it by the gloom of his own
character, the expression of his feelings under the sense
of unmerited wrongs, invectives thundered out against
his persecutors, and exposures of atrocities which were
every-day deeds of every-day men, in those distracted
countries, of which his poem has left such fearful
records.
44 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Much unsatisfactory discussion has arisen upon the
title " Divina Commedia," which Dante gave to his
poem ; it being presumed that he had never seen a
regular drama either in letter or exhibition, as the
Greek and Latin authors of that class were scarcely
known in Italy till after his time. The religious spec-
tacles, however, common in the darkest of the middle
ages, consisting not of pantomime only, but of dialogue
and song, may have suggested to him the designation as
well as the subject of his strange adventure. Be this as
it may, the character of the work is dramatic throughout,
consisting of a series of scenes, which conduct to one
catastrophe ; for however miscellaneous or insulated they
may seem in respect to each other, — in respect to the
author (who is his own hero, and for whose warning, in-
struction, and final recovery from an evil course of life,
the whole are collocated,) they all bear directly upon him,
and accomplish by just gradations the purpose for which
they were intended. Dante is a changed man when he
emerges, from the infernal regions in the centre of the
globe, upon the shore of the island of Purgatory at the
Antipodes ; and is further so refined by his ascent up
that perilous mount, that when he reaches the terrestrial
paradise at the top, he is prepared for translation from
thence through the nine spheres of the celestial universe.
Many of the interviews between the visiters of the in-
visible worlds which they explore, and the inhabitants of
these, are scenes which involve all the peculiarities of
stage-exhibitions, — dialogue, action, passion, — secrecy,
surprise, interruption. Examples may be named. The
meeting and conversations with Sordello, in the sixth and
seventh cantos of the " Purgatorio," in which there are
two instances of unexpected discoveries which bring out
the whole beauty and grandeur of that mysterious person-
age's character; as a patriot, when at the mere sound of the
word " Mantua" he embraces Virgil with transport, not
yet knowing, nor even enquiring, any thing further about
him, except that he is his countryman ; and afterwards
as a poet, when, Virgil disclosing his name, Sordello is
DANTE ALIGHIERI. 45
overpowered with delightful astonishment, like one who
suddenly beholds something wonderful before him, and,
scarcely believing his own eyes for joy, exclaims, in a
breath, " It is ! it is not ! " (Eti c, non e\) The parties
are thus introduced to each other. Dante and Virgil
are considering which road they shall take, when the
latter observes : —
" Yonder I see a spirit, fix'd in thought,
Alone and gazing earnestly upon us,
He will point out the readier way to take.
Tow'rds him we went — Soul of a Longobardian !
How didst thou stand aloof with haughty bearing,
And lordly eyes, slow-moving as we moved !
— He utter'd not a word, but let us pass,
On-looking like a lion from his lair :
But Virgil, drawing near, entreated him
To show the easiest path for our ascent :
Still to that meek request he answer'd not,
But of our country and our way of life
Enquired ; — my courteous guide began then, « Mantua';
Straight at the word, that spirit, erewhile so wrapt
Within himself, sprang from his place, and cried,
« O Mantuan ! I 'm thy countryman, Sordello ; '
And one the other instantly embraced." *
The reserve of Sordello is generally attributed to
stubbornness or pride ; but is it not manifest that, on
the first sight of the strangers, he had a misgiving hope
(if the phrase be allowable) which he feared might
deceive him, that they were countrymen of his, where-
* " Ma vedi Ik un' anima, ch' a posta,
Sola soletta verso noi riguarda ;
Quella ne 'nsegnera la via piu tosta
Venimmo a lei : — O anima Lombarda !
Come ti stavi altera e disdegnosa,
E nel muover degli occhi onesta e tarda !
Ella non ci diceva alcuna cosa ;
Ma lasciavane gir, solo guardando
A guisa di leon, quandp si posa.
Pur Virgilio si trasse a lei, pregando,
Che ne mostrasse la miglior salita ;
E quella non rispose al suo dimando,
Ma di nostro paese, e del la vita
C' inchiese ; e '1 dolce duca incomminciava,
• Mantova ' — e 1'ombra tutta in se romita,
Surse ver lui del luogo, ove pria stava,
Dicendo, ' O Mantovano! ioson Sordello
Delia tua terra ;' e 1'un 1'altro abbracciava."
46 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
fore, absorbed in that sole idea, he disregards their ques-
tion concerning the road, and directly comes to the
point which he was anxious to ascertain ; and this being
resolved by the single word <e Mantua," his soul flies
forth at once to embrace the speaker ?
In the tenth canto of the " Inferno," where heretics
are described as being tormented in tombs of fire, the lids
of which are suspended over them till the day of judg-
ment, Dante finds Farinata d' Uberti, an illustrious com-
mander of the Ghibellines, who, at the battle of Monte
Aperto, in 1260, had so utterly defeated the Guelfs of
Florence, that the city lay at the mercy of its enemies,
by whom counsel was taken to raze it to the ground :
but Farinata, because his bowels yearned towards his
native city, stood up alone to oppose the barbarous
design ; and partly by menace — having drawn his sword
in the midst of the assembly — and partly by persuasion,
preserved the city from destruction. The interview is
thus painted ; but to prepare the reader for well under-
standing the nature of the by-play which intervenes, it
is necessary to state that Cavalcante Cavalcanti, whose
head appears out of an adjacent sepulchre, was the father
of Guido Cavalcanti, a poet, the particular friend of
Dante, and chief of the Bianchi party banished during
his priorship.
" ' O Tuscan ! Thou, who, through this realm of fire,
Alive dost walk, thus courteously conversing
Pause, if it please thee, here. Thy dialect
Proclaims thy lineage from that noble land,
Which I, perhaps, too much have wrong'd.'
" Such sounds
Suddenly issued forth from one of those
Sepulchral caverns. — Tremblingly I crept
A little nearer to my guide, but he
Cried, < Turn again ! What would'st thou do ? Behold,
'Tis Farinata that hath raised himself:
.There may'st thou see him, upward from the loins.'
Already had I fix'd mine eyes on his,
Who stood, with bust and visage so erect,
As though he look'd on hell itself with scorn.
My master then, with prompt and resolute hands,
DANTE ALIGIIIERI. 47
Thrust me among the charnel-vaults towards him,
Saying, — « Thy words be plain.' When I had reach'd
His tombstone-foot, he look'd at me a while
As in disdain, then loftily demanded —
' Who were thine ancestors ? '
"Eager to tell,
Nought I conceal'd, but utter'd all the truth.
Arching his brow a little, he return'd ; —
* Bitter antagonists of mine, of me,
And of my party, were thy sires; but twice
I scatter'd them.'
" « If scatter'd twice,' said I,
' Once and again they came from all sides back, —
A lesson which thy friends have not well learn'd.'
" Just then a second figure, at his side,
Emerged to view ; unveil'd above the chin,
And kneeling, as methought. — It look'd around
So wistfully, as though it hoped to find
Some other with me ; but, that hope dispell'd,
Weeping it spake : — 'If through this dungeon-gloom,
Grandeur of genius guide thy venturous way,
My son ! — where is he ? — and why not with thee ?'
Then I to him : — * Not of myself I came ;
He who awaits me yonder brought me hither, —
One whom perhaps thy Guido held in scorn.*
His speech and form of penance had already
Taught me his name 3 my words were therefore pointed.
Upstarting he exclaim'd : — " How ? — said'st thou held ?
Lives he not then ? and doth not heaven's sweet light
Fall on his eyes ? ' — When I was slow to answer,
Backward he sunk, and re-appear'd no more.
" Meanwhile that other most majestic form,
Near which I stood, neither changed countenance,
Nor turn'd his neck, nor lean'd to either side :
* And if,' quoth he, our first debate resuming,
* They have not well that lesson learn'd, the thought
Torments me more than this infernal bed :
And yet, not fifty times her changing face,
Who here reigns sovereign, shall be re-illumined,
Ere thou shalt know how hard that lesson is.f
— But tell me, — so may'st thou return in peace
To the dear world above ! — why are thy people
* Alluding, it is supposed, to the fact that Guido had forsaken poetry for
philosophy, or preferred the latter so much above the former, as to think
lightly of Virgil himself in comparison with Aristotle.
t He foretells Dante's own expulsion from his country within fifty
months.
48 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
In all their acts so mad against my race ? '
— ' The slaughter and discomfiture,' said 1,
' That turn'd the river red at Mont-Aperto,
Have caused such dire proscriptions in our temples. '
" He shook his head, deep-sighing, then rejoin'd, —
' I was not there alone ; nor without cause
Engaged with others ; but I was alone,
And stood in her defence with open brow,
When all our council, with one voice, decreed
That Florence should be razed from her foundation.'
" * So may thy kindred find repose, as thou
Shalt loose a knot which hath entangled me ! '
Thus I adjured him : — 'ye foresee what time
(If rightly I have heard) will bring to pass,
But to the present, otherwise, are blind.'
" ' We see, like him who hath an evil eye,
Far distant things,' said he ; ' so highest God
Enlightens us : but yet, when they approach,
Or when they are, our intellect falls short ;
Nor can we know, save by report from others,
Aught of the state of man beneath the sun.
Hence may'st thou comprehend how all our knowledge
Shall cease for ever from the point that shuts
The portal of the future.' *
" At that moment
Compunction smote me for my recent fault,
And I cried out — « Oh ! tell that fallen one,
His son is yet among the living. — Say,
That if I falter'd to reply at first
With that assurance, 'twas because my thoughts
Were harass'd by the doubt which thou hast solved.' "f
* The end of time, when their tombs were to be closed up.
f " ' O Tosco ! che per la cittk del foco
Vivo ten' vai cosl parlando onesto
Piacciati di restare in questo loco :
La tua loquela ti fa manifesto
Di quella nobH patria natio,
Alia qual forse fui troppo molesto.'
Subitamente questo suono usclo
D'una dell' arche : pero m'accostai,
Temendo, un poco pid al duco mio.
Ed ei mi disse : ' Volgiti, che fai ?
Vedi Ik Farinata, che s'fe dritto.
Dalla cintola 'n su tutto '1 vedrai.'
I'avea gi& '1 mio viso nel suo fitto ;
, Ed ei s'ergea col petto, e con la fronte,
Comeavesse lo 'nferno in gran dispitto;
E 1'animose man del duca, e pronte,
Mi pinser tra le sepolture a lui ;
Dicendo : ' Le parole tue sien conte.'
Tosto ch' al pife della sua tomba fui,
Guardommi un poco, e poi, quasi disdegnoso,
DANTE ALIGHIERI. 49
The reader of these lines (however inferior the trans-
lation may be), cannot have failed to perceive hy what
Mi dimandb : — ' Chi fur gli maggior tui ? *
Jo, ch' era d' ubbidir desideroso,
Non gliel celai, matutto glielo apersi :
Ond' ei levb le ciglia un poco in soso :
Poi disse : — ' Fieramente furo avversi
A me, e a miei primi, e a mia parte,
SI che per duo fiate gli dispersi.'
• S* ei fur cacciati, e' tornar d'ogni parte,'
Risposi lui, ' 1'unae 1'altra tiata,
Ma i vostri non appresser ben quell' arte.'
Allor surse alia vista scoperchiata
Un' ombra lungo questo infinoal mentoj
Credo, che s'era inginocchion levata.
D' intorno mi guardu, come talento
Avesse di veder, s'altri era meco ;
Ma, poi che '1 sospicciar fu tutto spento,
Piangendo disse ; — ' Se per questo cieco
Carcere vai per altezza d'ingegno,
Mio figlio ov' e, e perche non d teco? '
Ed io a lui : ' Da me stesso' non vegno ;
Colui, ch' attende la, per qul mi mena,
Forse cui Guido vostro ebbe a disdegno.'
Le sue parole, e'l modo della pena
M'avevan di costui gik letto il nome j
Perc) fu la risposta cosi piena.
Di subito drizzato gridb; — ' Come
Dicesti, egli ebbe ? non viv' egli ancora ?
Non fiere gli occhi suoi lo dolce lome ? '
Quando s'accorse d'alcuna dimora,
Ch' i' faceva dinanzi alia risposta,
Supin ricadde, e piu non parve fuora.
Ma quell' altro magnanimo, a cui posta
Restato m' era, non mutb aspetto,
Ne mosse collo, n£ piegb sua costa :
' E se,' continuando al primo detto,
' Egli han quell' arte,' disse, ' male appresa
Ci6 mi tormenta piu che questo letto.
Ma non cinquanta volte lia raccesa
La faccia della donna, che qul regge,
Che tu saprai quanto quell' arte pesa.
E se tu mai nel dolce mondo regge,
Dimmi, perche quel popol e si empio
Incpntr' a miei in ciascuna sua legge ? '
Ond' io a lui ; ' Lo strazio e '1 grande scempio,
Che fece '1 Arbia colorata in rosso,
Tale orazion fa far nel nostro tempio.'
Poi ch' ebbe sospirando il capo scosso,
' A ci6 non fu' io sol,' disse, ' nd certo
Sanza cagion sarei con gli altri mosso ;
Ma fu' io sol cola, dove sofferto
Fu per ciascun di torre via Fiorenza,
Colui, che la difesi a viso aperto.'
' Deh ! se riposi mai vostra semenza! '
Prega' io lui, ' solvetemi quel nodo
Che qul ha inviluppata mia sentenza ;
E par, clie voi veggiate, se ben odo,
Dinanzi quel, cue '1 tempo seco adduce,
E pel presen te tenete altro modo.'
* Noi veggiam, come quei, ch' ha mala luce,
Le cose,' disse, 'che ne son lontanoj
VOL. I. E
50 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
natural action and speech the paternal anxiety of CavaJ-
cante respecting his son is indicated. On his hed of
torture he hears a voice which he knows to he that of
his son's friend ; he starts up, looks eagerly about, as
expecting to see that son ; hut observing the friend only,
he at once interrupts the dialogue with Farinata, and in
broken exclamations enquires concerning him. Dante
happening to employ the past tense of a verb in re-
ference to what his " Guido" might have done, the
miserable parent instantly lays hold of that minute
circumstance as an intimation of his death, and asks
questions of which he dreads the answers, precisely in
the manner of Macduff when he learns that his wife
and children had been murdered by Macbeth. The
poet hesitating to reply, Cavalcante takes the worst
for granted, falls back in despair, and appears not again.
Thus,
" Even from his tomb the voice of Nature cries."
Dante, however, at the close of the scene, unexpectedly
recurs to his own fault with the tenderness of compunction
and delicacy of respect due to an unfortunate being,
whom he had unintentionally agonised with his silence,
and sends a message to the old man that his son yet
lives.* Contrasted with this trembling sensibility of
Cotanto ancor ne splende '1 sommo duce :
Quand 's appressano, o son, tutto £ vano
Nostro 'ntelletto, e s' altri non ci apporta,
Nulla sapem di vostro stato uraano.
Perb comprender puoi, che tutta morta
Fia nostra conoscenza da quel punto,
Che del futuro fia chiusa la porta.'
Allor, come di mia colpa compunto,
Dissi : ' Or direte dunque a quel caduto,
Che '1 suo nato fc co' vivi ancor congiunto;
E s'io fu* dianzi alia risposta muto,
Fat' ei saper, che '1 fei, perche pensava
Gik nelP error, che m'avete soluto.'*
* There are few instances (notwithstanding his tremendous denunciation!
against bodies of men, the inhabitants of whole cities or states) in which
Dante forgets courtesy towards individual sufferers ; and, in general, he
expresses the most honourable sympathy towards his very enemies, when
he finds them such. In the case of Bocca degli Abati, who, at the battle
of Monte Aperto, traitorously smote off the right hand of the Florentine
standard-bearer, the patriotic poet shows no mercy ; but having accident-
ally kicked him in the face as he stood wedged up to the chin in ice, he
afterwards tears the locks from the wretch's head to make him tell ui«
DANTE ALIGIIIERI. 51
a father's affection, stronger than death, and out-feeling
the pains of hell, is the stern, calm, patient dignity of
Farinata, who, though wounded to the quick by the retort
of Dante at the moment when their discourse was broken
upon, stands unmoved in mind, in look, in posture, till
the interlude is ended; and then, without the slightest al-
lusion to it, he takes up the suspended argument at the
last words of his opponent, as though his thoughts had
all the while been ruminating on the disgrace of his
friends, the afflictions of his family, and the inextin-
guishable enmity of his countrymen against himself.
His noble rejoinder, on Dante's reference to the carnage
at Monte Aperto as the cause of his people's implaca-
bility, is above all praise. Indeed, it would be difficult
to point out, in ancient or modern tragedy, a passage of
more sublimity or pathos, in which so few words express
so much, yet leave so much more to be imagined by any
one who has (f a human heart," as the whole of this
scene in the original exhibits.
Dante's poem is certainly neither the greatest nor the
best in the world ; but it is, perhaps, the most extraordi-
nary one which resolute intellect ever planned, or perse-
vering talents successfully executed. It stands alone ;
and must be read and judged according to rules and im-
munities adapted to its peculiar structure, plot, and
purpose, formed upon principles affording scope to the
exercise of the highest powers, with little regard to pre-
cedent. If these principles, then, have intrinsic excel-
name ; — forgetting, by the way, that in every other case the spirits were
intangible by him, though they appeared to be bodily tormented. — Dell'
Inferno, xxxii. And towards the friar Alberigo de' Manfredi, who, having
quarrelled with some of his brethren, under pretence of desiring to be re-
conciled, invited" them and others to a feast, towards the oonclusion of
which, at the signal of the fruit being brought in, a band of hired assassins
rushed upon the guests and murdered the selected victims on the spot ;
whence arose a saying, when a person had been stabbed, that he had been
served with some of Alberigo's fruit : — towards this wretch Dante (by an
ambiguous oath and promise to relieve him from a crust of tears which had
been frozen like a mask over his face), having obtained his name, behaves
wnh deliberate inhumanity, leaving him as he found him, with this cod
excuse,—
" E cortesia fu lui esser villano."
" 'Twas courtesy to play the knave to him."
DeU' Inferno, canto xxxiJL
E 2
52 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
lence, and the work be found uniformly consistent with
them, fulfilling to the utmost the aims of the author, the
" Divina Commedia" must be allowed to stand among
the proudest trophies of original genius, challenging,
encountering, and overcoming unparalleled difficulties.
Though the fields of action, or rather of vision, are
nominally Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise, — the Paradise,
Purgatory, and Hell of Dante, with all their terrors, and
splendours, and preternatural fictions, are but represent-
ations of scenes transacted on earth, and characters that
lived antecedently or contemporaneously with himself.
Though altogether out of the world, the whole is of the
world. Men and women seem fixed in eternal tor-
ments, passing through purifying flames, or exalted to
celestial beatitude ; yet in all these situations they are
what they were; and it is their former history, more than
their present happiness, hope, or despair, which consti-
tutes, through a hundred cantos, the interest, awakened
and kept up by the successive exhibition of more than
a thousand individual actors and sufferers. Of every one
of these something terrible or touching is intimated or
told, briefly at the utmost, but frequently by mere hints of
narrative or gleams of allusion, which excite curiosity in
the breast of the reader ; who is surprised at the poet's
forbearance, when, in the notes of commentators, he
finds complex, strange, and fearful circumstances, on
which a modern versifier or novelist would expend
pages, treated here as ordinary events, on which it would
be impertinent to dwell. These, in the author's own age,
were generally understood; the bulk of the materials be-
ing gathered up during a period of restlessness and con-
fusion among the republican states of Italy.
Hence, though the first appearance of the <s Divina
Commedia," in any intelligible edition, is repulsive from
the multitude of notes, and the text is not seldom diffi-
cult and dark with the oracular compression of strong
ideas in few and pregnant words, yet will the toil and
patience of any reader be well repaid, who perseveringly
proceeds but a little way, quietly referring, as occasion may
DANTE ALIGHIERI. 53
require, from the obscurity of the original to the illustra-
tions below ; for when he returns from the latter to the
former (as though his own eye had been refreshed with
new light, the darkness having been in it, and not in the
verse), what was colourless as a cloud is radiant with
beauty, and what before was undefined in form becomes
exquisitely precise and symmetrical, from comprehend-
ing in so small a compass so vast a variety of thought,
feeling, or fact. Dante, in this respect, must be studied
as an author in a dead language by a learner, or rather
as one who employs a living language on forgotten
themes; then will his style grow easier and clearer as the
reader grows more and more acquainted with his sub-
ject, his manner, and his materials. For whatever be
the corruptions of the text (which perhaps has never
been sufficiently collated), the remoteness of the allu-
sions, and our countrymen's want of that previous know-
ledge of almost every thing treated upon, which best
prepares the mind for the perception and highest en-
joyment of poetical beauty and poetical pleasure, Dante
will be found, in reality, one of the most clear, minute,
and accurate writers in sentiment, as he is one of the
most perfectly natural and graphic painters to the life
of persons, characters, and actions. His draughts have
the freedom of etchings, and the sharpness of proof im-
pressions. His poem is well worth all the pains which
the most indolent reader may take to master it.
Ordinary poetry is often striking and captivating at
first view, but all its merit is at once elicited ; and fre-
quently that which charmed so much at first becomes
less and less affecting, less and less denned, the more it
is examined, till light turns to mist, and mist to shadow
in the end ; whereas the highest order of poetry — that
which is intellectual — the longer it is dwelt upon, the
lovelier, the nobler, the more delightful it appears, and
when fully understood remains imperishable in its graces
and effects ; repetition a thousand times does not im-
pair it , its creations, like those of nature, — familiar,
E 3
54 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
indeed, as the sun and the stars, — are "never less glo-
rious and beautiful, though daily before us. Dante's
poetry (extravagant and imaginative as he often may
be) is thoroughly intellectual; there is no enthusiasm
of feeling, but there is much of philosophical and theo-
logical subtlety, and of course much absurdity in some
of his reveries ; yet his passion is always pure and un-
affected, his descriptions are daylight realities, and his
heroes men of flesh and blood. Probably no other work
of human genius so far exceeds in its development the
expectation of prejudiced or unprepared readers, as the
" Divina Commedia;" or performs, in fact, so much
more than it seems to promise.
Dante has created a hell, purgatory, and paradise
of his own ; and, being satisfied with the present world
as a nursery for his personages, he has peopled his ultra-
mundane regions with these, assigning to all their abodes
" sulphureous or ambrosial," or refining those who were
yet corrigible after death, according to his own pleasure,
his theological views, and his moral feelings. It must
be confessed that, whatever were his passions, prejudices,
or failings, his attachments or antipathies, as an arbiter
of fate he appears honestly to have distributed justice, to
the best of his knowledge, to all whom he has cited
before his tribunal, leaving in the case of every one
(perhaps) a judgment unimpeachable and unappealable;
so forcibly does he impress the mind with the truth and
reality of the evidence of their merit or turpitude, which
he produces to warrant his sentences. As a man, he is,
indeed, fierce, splenetic, and indignant at times, es-
pecially in execrating his countrymen for their profligacy
and injustice towards himself; yet (though there may
have been primary motives less noble than the apparent
ones, at the bottom of his heart, unsuspected even by
himself,) his anger and his vengeance seem always di-
rected against those who deserved to be swept from the
face of the earth, as venal, treacherous, parricidal
wretches. With the wonders which he beheld in his
invisible world, in his complicated travels through its
DANTE ALIGHIEBI. 55
triple round of labyrinths ; — as, in hell, wheel within
wheel, diminishing downward to the centre; in purgatory,
circle above circle, terminating in the garden of Eden ;
and, in his paradise, orb beyond orb, through the
solar system to the heaven of heavens, where he " pre-
sumed, an earthly guest, and drew empyreal air;" —
with these he has constructed a poem of a thousand
pages, exhibiting the greatest diversity of characters,
scenes, circumstances, and events, that were ever embraced
in an equal compass ; while all are made perfectly to
harmonise and conduce to one process, carried on at
every step of his pilgrimage, namely, the gradual puri-
fication of the poet himself, by the examples which he
sees and the lessons which he hears; as well as by the
toils he undergoes, the pains he endures, and the bliss
he partakes, in his long and dreary path down into the
nether regions, where there is no hope ; up the steep
hill, where, though there is suffering, there is no fear of
ultimate release ; and on his flight through the " nine-
enfolded spheres," where all are as happy as they can.
be in their present station, yet, as they pass from stage
to stage, rise in capacity and means of enjoyment to
fulness of felicity in the beatific vision.
Dante was the very poet, and the " Divina Commedia"
the very poem, to be expected from the influence of all
existing circumstances in church and state at the time
when he flourished. The poet and his age were ho-
mogeneous, and his song was as truly in season as
that of the nightingale in spring; the winter of bar-
barism had broken up, the summer heat of refine-
ment had not yet come on: a century earlier there
would have been too much ignorance, a century later
too much intelligence, to form such a theme and such
a minstrel ; for though Dante, in any age, must have
been one of its greatest bards, yet the bard that he
was he could not have been in any other than that in
which he lived.
Dante, as hath already been intimated, is the hero of
his own poem ; and the " Divina Commedia " is the only
E 4
50 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
example of an attempt triumphantly achieved, and placed
beyond the reach of scorn or neglect, wherein, from
beginning to end, the author discourses concerning him-
self individually. Had this been done in any other way
than the consummately simple, delicate, and unobtrusive
one which he has adopted, the whole would have
been insufferable egotism, disgusting coxcombry, or op-
pressive dulness, — whereas this personal identity is the
charm, the strength, the soul of the book : he lives, he
breathes, he moves through it ; his pulse beats or stands
still, his eye kindles or fades, his cheek grows pale
with horror, colours with shame, or burns with in-
dignation ; we hear his voice, his step, in every page ;
we see his shape by the flames of hell, his shadow in the
land where there is no other shadow (" Purgatorio "),
and his countenance gaining angelic elevation from " col-
loquy sublime" with glorified intelligences in the pa-
radise above. Nor does he ever go out of his actual
character; — he is, indeed, the lover from infancy of
Beatrice, the aristocratic magistrate of a fierce democracy,
the valiant soldier in the field of Campaldino, the fervent
patriot in the feuds of Guelfs and Ghibellines, the elo-
quent and subtle disputant in the schools of theology ;
the melancholy exile, wandering from court to court,
depending for bread and shelter on petty princes who
knew not his worth, except as a splendid captive in
their train ; and, above all (though not obtrusively so),
he is the poet anticipating his own assured renown, and
dispensing at his will honour or infamy to others, whom
he need but to name, and the sound must be heard to
the end of time, and echoed from all regions of the globe.
Dante, in his vision, is Dante as he lived, as he died,
and as he expected to live in both worlds beyond death,
— an immortal spirit in the one, an unforgotten poet in
the other. Pride of birth, consciousness of genius,
religious feeling almost to fanaticism, and the sense of
wrongs, under which he is alternately inflamed with rage,
withered with disappointment, or saddened with despair,
— these are continually reminding the reader of the man
DANTE ALIGHIERI. 57
as he was ; stimulating his jaded hope with the bitter
sweet of revenge, which he could wreak at will upon his
enemies; and solacing a wounded spirit with the thought
of fame in possession, which his fellow-citizens could not
confiscate, and fame in reversion, of which contempo-
raries could not cut off the entail.
Yet while he is thus in every point an individual, he
is at the same time an exemplar of the whole species;
and he may emphatically say to the reader who can
follow him in his journeys, receive his inspirations, and
share in his troubles, anxieties, joys, and disappoint-
ments : — " Am I not a man and a brother ? " Dante,
though in this sense the hero of his own poem, is any
thing but a hero, either in the vulgar or the chivalrous
sense of the term. He is a human being, with all the
faults, frailties, and imperfections of our common nature,
as they really existed in himself, and as they more or
less exist in every other person ; nor can a less sophis-
ticated character be found in all the volumes of prose and
rhyme that have appeared since this auto-biographical
poem. He assumes nothing ; he conceals nothing ; his
fears, his ignorance, his loves, and his enmities, are all
undisguisedly set forth, as though he were all the while
communing with his own heart, without the cowardly
apprehension of blame, or the secret desire of applause
from a fellow- creature. He is always, indeed, noble,
manly, and candid, but travelling continually in company
of some superior intelligence, — Virgil in hell and pur-
gatory, and Beatrice in purgatory and heaven, — he
always defers to the one or the other in difficulty, doubt,
or danger, and clings for protection, as well as looks up
for instruction, with childlike simplicity and docility;
returning with the most reverent and affectionate gra-
titude every token of kindness received from either.
Marvellous and incredible, it must be confessed, are
many of the stories which he tells; but he tells them with
the plainness and straight-forwardness of a man who is
speaking the truth, and nothing else, of his own know-
ledge.
58 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
In the last cantos of the " Purgatorio/'and throughout
the " Paradiso/' there is a prodigious putting forth of
power to describe ineffable and eternal things ; with in-
exhaustible prodigality of illustration, and transmutation
of the same symbols, to constitute different gradations
of blessedness and glory. Of these, however, there are
scarcely any types except light, colour, sound, and motion,
variously combined to represent spiritual beings, their
forms, their occupations, and manner of discoursing ;
but even amongst such inexpressible, nay, unimaginable
scenes and passages, the human nature which cleaves to
the poet, and shows itself, under every transmigration,
allied to flesh and blood, gives an interest which allegorical
pictures of invisible realities can never keep up beyond
the first brilliant impression. Yet the vitality and
strength of the poem reside chiefly in the first and
second parts; diminishing just in proportion as the au-
thor rises above the regions which exhibit the sins and
sufferings of creatures like ourselves, punished with ever-
lasting destruction in hell, or " burnt and purged away/'
through the penal inflictions of purgatory. It may,
however, be said, with regard to the whole, that no ideal
beings, ideal scenes, or ideal occurrences, in any poem or
romance, have ever more perfectly personified truth and
nature than those in this composition, which, though the
theatre is figuratively beyond the limits of human action,
is nevertheless full of such action in its most common as
well as its most extraordinary forms.
There is scarcely a decorous attitude of the human
frame, a look expressive of the most concealed sentiment,
or a feeling of pain, pleasure, surprise, doubt, fear, agony,
hope, delight, which is not described with a minuteness
of discrimination alike curious and admirable ; the poet
himself frequently being the subject of the same, and
exciting our sympathy by the lively or poignant remem-
brance of having ourselves done, looked, felt like him,
when we were far from being ingenuous enough to ac-
knowledge the weakness implied. There is scarcely a
phenomenon in the visible heavens, the earth, the sea.
DANTE ALIGHIERI. 59
and the phases of nature, which he has not presented in
the most striking manner. In such instances he fre-
quently descends to the nicest particulars, that he may
realise the exact view of them which he wishes to be
taken ; they being necessarily illustrations of invisible
and preternatural subjects. This leads to the remark,
that the poem abounds with similes of the greatest va-
riety, beauty, and elegance ; often, likewise, of the most
familiar, touching, or grotesque character. Among these,
birds are favourite images, especially the stork and the
falcon, — the two last that an English poet of the nine-
teenth century would think of, but which happily remind
us, as often as they are seen here, of the country of the
author, while they present pictures of times gone by, —
the stork having long ago deserted our shores, and fal-
conry, poetical and captivating as it is to the eye and the
fancy, having been abandoned in the fashionable rage for
preserves, where game are bred like poultry, and mas-
sacred by wholesale on field-days. Next to birds, child-
ren are the darlings, in the similes, of this stern, and
'harsh, and gloomy being, as he is often, though unjustly,
represented to have been. Amidst his most dazzling, ter-
rific, or monstrous creations, these little ones, in all their
loveliness and hilarity, are introduced, to re-invigorate
the tired thoughts, and cool the over-heated imagin-
ation with reminiscence of that which, in this world, may
be looked upon with the least pain, and which cannot
be looked upon with pleasure without our being the
better for it ; the love of children, and the delight of
seeing them happy, being a test of every other species of
kindness towards our fellow-creatures.
It is unnecessary to pursue general criticism further.
Any analysis of the plot would be preposterous here ; for
nothing less than a progressive abstract of the whole, with
examples from every stage, would be satisfactory, or in-
deed intelligible, to those who are not acquainted with the
original, or the translation into English by the Reverend
H. F. Gary, which may be said to fail in nothing except
the versification — and that, perhaps, only in consequence
60 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
of the writer's attention to what constitutes the chief
merit of his performance, fidelity to the meaning of the
text.
It was the purpose of the writer of the foregoing
memoir to have concluded his strictures on the " Di-
vina Commedia" with a series of newly-translated spe-
cimens from the same (like the foregoing ones), in the
various kinds of style for which the author was distin-
guished, in order to give the English reader some faint
idea of this poet's very peculiar manner of handling his
subject, and the general cast of his mind and mode of
thinking : hut the limits of the present work precluding
any further extension of this article, these are reserved,
and may be laid before the public at some future op-
portunity.
61
PETRARCH.
FRANCESCO PETBARCA was of Florentine extraction,
and sprung from a respectable family. His proge-
nitors had been notaries. His great grandfather has '
been distinguished for his integrity, benevolence, and
long life : his youth had been active, his old age was
serene ; he died in his sleep when more than 100
years old, an age scarcely ever heard of in Italy. His
father exercised the same profession as those who had J
gone before him ; and, being held in great esteem by
his fellow citizens, he had filled several public offices.
When the Ghibelines were banished Florence in 1302,
Petraccolo was included in the number of exiles'; his _<
property was confiscated, and he retired with his wife,
Eletta Canigiani, whom he had lately married, to the
town of Arezzo in Tuscany. Two years after, the Ghi-
beline exiles endeavoured to reinstate themselves in their
native city by force of arms, but they failed in their
enterprise, and were forced to retreat. The attempt
took place on the night of the 20th of July, 1304 ; and, *
on returning discomfited on the morrow, Petraccolo
found that during the intervening hours his wife had,
after a period of great difficulty and danger, given birth ,
to a son. The child was baptized Francesco, and the
surname of di Petracco was added, as was the custom
in those days, to distinguish him as the son of Petracco.
Orthography, at that time, was very inexact ; and the
poet's ear for harmony caused him to give a more eu-
phonious sound to his patronymic : he wrote his name
Petrarca, and by this he was known during his life, and ^
to all posterity.
When the child was seven months old his mother 1305.
was permitted to return from banishment, and she
established herself at a country house belonging to
her husband near Ancisa, a small town fifteen mile*
62 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
from Florence. The infant, who, at his birth, it was
supposed, would not survive, was exposed to imminent
peril during this journey. In fording a rapid stream,
the man who had charge of him, carried him, wrapped
in his swaddling clothes, at the end of a stick ; he fell
from his horse, and the habe slipped from the fastenings
into the water ; hut he was saved, for how could Pe-
trarch die until he had seen Laura ? His mother re-
mained for seven years at Ancisa. Petraccolo meanwhile
wandered from place to place, seeking to earn a sub-
sistence, and endeavouring to forward the Ghibeline
cause. He visited his wife by stealth on various oc-
casions, and she gave birth during this period to two
sons ; one of whom died in infancy, and the other,
Gherardo, or Gerard, was the companion and friend of
Francesco for many years.
1312. When Petrarch was eight years of age, his parents
removed to Pisa, and remained there for nearly a year ;
when, finding his party entirely ruined, Petraccolo re-
solved to emigrate to Avignon ; for, the pope having
fixed his residence in that city, it became a resort for
the Italians, who found it advantageous to follow his
1313. court. Petraccolo embarked with his wife and two
JEtat. children at Leghorn, and proceeded by sea to Marseilles.
9- They were wrecked and exposed to great danger when
not far from port ; but landing at last in safety, they
J proceeded to Avignon. The eyes of the young Pe-
trarch had become familiar with the stately cities of his
native country : for the last year he had lived at Pisa,
where the marble palaces of the Lung' Arno, and the
free open squares surrounded by majestic structures,
were continually before him. Thi squalid aspect of the
ill-built streets of Avignon were in painful contrast;
- and thus that veneration for Italy, and contempt for
transalpine countries, which exercised a great influence
over his future life, was early implanted in Petrarch's
heart.
The papal court, and consequent concourse of stran-
gers, filled Avignon to overflowing, and rendered it an
PETRARCH. 63
expensive place of residence. Accordingly Petraccolo 1315.
quitted it for Carpentras, a small rural town twelve •**»*•
miles distant. A Genoese named Settimo, lately arrived
at Avignon with his wife and young son, had formed
an intimacy with Petraccolo, and joined him in this
fresh migration.
The youth of Petrarch was obscure in point of for-
tune, hut it was attended by all the happiness that •*
springs from family concord, and the excellent cha-
racter of his parents. His father was a man of probity -1
and talent, attentive to his son's education and improve-
ment, and, at the same time, kind and indulgent. His
mother was distinguished for the virtues that most
adorn her sex ; she was domestic, and affectionate in her
disposition ; and he had two youthful friends, in his
brother Gerard and Guido Settimo, whom he tenderly
loved. Add to this, he studied under Convennole, a •»
kind-hearted man, to whom he became warmly attached.
Under his care, and during several visits to Avignon,
Petrarch learned as much of grammar, dialectics, and
rhetoric, as suited his age, or was taught in the schools
which he frequented ; and how little that was, any one
conversant with the learning of those times can readily
divine.*
At the age of fifteen Petrarch was sent to study at 1319.
the university of Montpellier, then frequented by a vast
concourse of students. Petraccolo intended his son to
pursue the study of the law, as the profession best suited
to insure his reputation and fortune ; but to this pur-
suit Francesco was invincibly repugnant. " It was not,"
he tells us, in the account he wrote for the information
of Posterity, " that I was not pleased with the venerable
authority of the laws, full, as they doubtless are, of the
spirit of ancient Rome, but because their use was de-
praved by the wickedness of man ; and it was tedious
to learn that by which I could not profit without dis-
honour." Petraccolo was alarmed by the dislike shown.
• Epist ad Posterit
64 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
by his son for the career for which he destined him,
and hy the taste he displayed for literature. He made
a journey to Montpellier, reproached him for his idle.
^ ness, and seizing on the precious manuscripts, which
the youth vainly endeavoured to hide, threw them into
the fire : but the anguish and cries of Petrarch moved
him to repent his severity : he snatched the remnants of
Virgil and Cicero from the flames, and gave them back,
bidding him find consolation in the one, and encourage-
ment in the other, to pursue his studies.
1323. He was soon after sent to Bologna. The chairs- of
^tat. this university were filled by the ablest professors of the
*9- age; and, under them, Petrarch made considerable pro-
gress in the study of the law, moved to this exertion,
doubtless, by the entreaties of his excellent father. He
proved that indolence was not the cause of his aversion
to this profession. His master of civil law, Cino da
^ Pistoia, gives most honourable testimony of his industry
and talents. " I quickly discovered and appreciated
your genius," he says, in a letter written some time after,
" and treated you rather like a beloved son than as a
pupil. You returned my affection, and repaid me by
observance and respect, and thus gained a reputation
among the professors and students for morality and
prudence. Your progress in study will never be for-
gotten in the university. In the space of four years you
learned by heart the entire body of civil law, with as
much facility as another would have acquired the ro-
mance of Launcelot and Ginevra."
1326. After three years spent at Bologna, Petrarch was
JEtat. recalled to France by the death of his father. Soon
22' after his mother died also, and he and his brother were
left entirely to their own guidance, with very slender
means, and those diminished by the dishonesty of those
whom their father had named as trustees to their for-
tune. Under these circumstances Petrarch entirely
. abandoned law, as it occurred to both him and his
brother that the clerical profession was their best re-
source in a city where the priesthood reigned supreme.
PETRARCH. 65
They resided at Avignon, and became the favourites •>
and companions of the ecclesiastical and lay nobles who
formed the papal court, to a degree which, in after-
times, excited Petrarch's wonder, though the self-suf-
ficiency and ardour of youth then blinded him to the
peculiar favour with which he was regarded. His ta-
lents and accomplishments were, of course, the cause of **
this distinction ; besides that his personal advantages
were such as to prepossess every one in his favour. He
was so handsome as frequently to attract observation as J
he passed along the streets : his complexion was between
dark and fair ; he had sparkling eyes, and a vivacious
and pleasing expression of countenance. His person
was rather elegant than robust; and he increased the
gracefulness of his appearance by a sedulous attention. 4
to dress. " Do you remember," he wrote to his brother
Gerard, many years after, " our white robes ; and our
chagrin when their studied elegance suffered the least J
injury, either in the disposition of their folds, or in
their spotless cleanliness ? do you remember our tight
shoes and how we bore the tortures which they inflicted
without a murmur? and our care lest the breezes should
disturb the arrangement of our hair ? "
Such tastes befit the season of youth, which, always
in extremes, is apt otherwise to diverge into negligence
and disorder. But Petrarch could not give up his en-
tire mind to frivolity and the pleasures of society : he "*
sought the intercourse of the wise, and his warm and
tender heart attached itself with filial or fraternal
affection to his good and learned friends. Among these
was John of Florence, canon of Pisa, a venerable man, -I
devoted to learning, and passionately attached to his
native country. With him Petrarch could recur to his
beloved studies and antique manuscripts. Sometimes,
however, the young man was seized with the spirit of
despondency. During such a mood, he had one day re-
course to his excellent friend, and poured out his heart
in complaints. " You know," he said, " the pains I
have taken to distinguish myself from the crowd, and
VOL. i. p
66 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
to acquire a reputation for knowledge. You have often
told me that I am responsible to God for the use I
make of my talents; and your praises have spurred me
on to exertion : but I know not why, even at the mo-
ment when I hoped for success in my endeavours, I
find myself dispirited, and the sources of my under-
standing dried up. I stumble at every step ; and in my
despair I have recourse to you. Advise me. Shall I
give up my studies ? shall I enter on another career ?
Have pity on me, my father: raise me from the frightful
condition into which I have fallen."
Petrarch shed tears as he spoke; but the old man
encouraged him with sagacity and kindness. He told
him that his best hopes for improvement must be
founded on the discovery he had made of his ignorance.
" The veil is now raised," he said, " and you perceive
the darkness which was before concealed by the pre-
sumption of youth. Embark upon the sea before you :
the further you advance, the more immense ,it will ap-
pear ; but do not be deterred. Follow the course which
I have counselled you to take, and be persuaded that
God will not abandon you."
These words re-assured Petrarch, and gave fresh
strength to his good intentions. The incident is worthy
of record, as giving a lively picture of an ingenuous and
ambitious mind struggling with and overcoming the
toils of learning.
At this period commenced his friendship with Gia-
como Colonna, who had resided at Bologna at the same
time with him, and had even then been attracted by
his prepossessing appearance and irreproachable conduct,
though he did not seek to be acquainted with him till
their return to Avignon.
The family of Colonna was the most illustrious of
; Rome : tfiey had fallen under the displeasure, and in-
curred the interdict, of pope Boniface VIII. who confis-
cated their estates and drove them into exile. The head of
the family was Stefano, a man of heroic and magnanimous
mind. He wandered for many years a banished man
PETRARCH. 67
in France and Germany, and a price was set on his
head. On one occasion, a band of armed men, desirous
of earning the ill reward attendant on delivering him up
to his enemies, seized on him, and asked his name, under
the belief that he would fear to acknowledge himself.
He replied, " I am Stefano Colonna, a citizen of Rome;"
and the mercenaries into whose hands he had fallen,
struck by his majesty and resolution, set him free. On
another occasion, he appeared suddenly in Italy, on a
field of battle, to aid his own party against the papal
forces. Being surrounded and pressed upon by his foes,
one of his friends exclaimed, " O, Stefano, where is
your fortress?" He placed his hand upon his heart, and
with a smile replied, " Here ! " This illustrious man
had a family of ten children, all distinguished by their
virtues and talents. The third among them was Giacomo.
Petrarch describes his friend in glowing colours7 " He
was," he says, " generous, faithful, and true ; modest,
though endowed with splendid talents ; handsome in
person, yet of irreproachable conduct : he possessed,
moreover, the gift of eloquence to an extraordinary de-
gree ; so that he held the hearts of men in his hands,
and carried them along with him by force of words."
Petrarch was readily ensnared in the net of his fascin-
ations. Giacomo introduced his new friend to his brother,
the cardinal Giovanni Colonna, under whose roof he
subsequently spent many years, and who acted towards
him, not as a master, but rather as a partial brother.*
Petrarch records the kindness of his patrons, in the lan-
guage of enthusiastic gratitude. Doubtless, they deserved
the encomiums of his free spirit, a spirit to be subdued
only by the power of affection. We must, however,
consider them peculiarly fortunate in being able to
command the society of one whose undeviating integrity,
whose gentleness, and fidelity, adorned talents which
have merited eternal renown. The peculiar charm of
Petrarch's character is warmth of heart, and a native
Epist ad Posterit
F 2
68 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
ingenuousness of disposition, which readily laid bare
his soul to those around : there was nothing factitious,
nothing put on for show, in the temper of his mind; he
desired to be great and good in God's eyes, and in those
of his friends, for conscience sake, and as the worthy
aim of a Christian man. He did not, therefore, wish
** to hide his imperfections ; but rather sought them
out, that he might bring a remedy ; and betrayed the
uneasiness they occasioned, with the utmost simplicity
and singleness of mind. When to this delightful frank-
J ness were added splendid talents, the charm of poetry,
so highly valued in the country of the Troubadours, an
affectionate and generous disposition, vivacious and en-
gaging manners, and an attractive exterior ; we cannot
wonder that Petrarch was the darling of his age, the
associate of its greatest men, and the man whom princes
delighted to honour.
Hitherto the feelings of friendship had engrossed
' him : love had not yet robbed him of sleep, nor dimmed
his eyes with tears ; and he wondered to behold such
weakness in others.* Now at the age of twenty-three,
after the fire of mere boyhood had evaporated, he felt
• the power of a violent and inextinguishable passion.
1327. At six in the morning, on the 6th of April, A. D. 1327
JEtat. ^he often fondly records the exact year, day, and hour),
_23' on occasion of the festival of Easter, he visited the
/v.v j church of gainte Claire at Avignon, and beheld, for the
- V - first time, Laura de Sade. She was just twenty years
of age, and in the bloom of beauty, — a beauty so
touching and heavenly, so irradiated by purity and
smiling iiinpcence, and so adorned by gentleness and
modesty, that the first sight stamped the image in the
poet's heart, never hereafter to be erased.
Laura was the daughter of Audibert de Noves, a noble
and .a knight : she lost her father in her early youth ;
J and at the age of seventeen, her mother married her to
Hugh de Sade, a young noble only a few years older
• Canzone iv.
PETRARCH. 69
than his bride. She was distinguished by her rank and
fortune, but more by her loveliness, her sweetness, and J
the untainted purity of her life and manners in the
midst of a society noted for its licentiousness.* Now she
is known as the subject of Petrarch's verses ; as the woman J
who inspired an immortal passion, and, kindling into
living fire the dormant sensibility of the poet, gave
origin to the most beautiful and refined, the most pas-
sionate, and yet the most delicate, amatory poetry that
exists in the world.
Petrarch beheld the loveliness and sweetness of the
young beauty, and was transfixed. He sought acquaint- •»'
ance with her; and while the manners of the times pre-
vented his entering her house f, he enjoyed many
opportunities of meeting her in society, and of conversing j
with her. He would have declared his love, but her
reserve enforced silence. " She opened my breast," he
writes, " and took my heart into her hand, saying, j
' Speak no word of this.' " Yet the reverence inspired
by her modesty and dignity was not always sufficient
to restrain her lover : being alone with her, and she
appearing more gracious than usual, Petrarch, on one J
occasion, tremblingly and fearfully confessed his passion,
but she, with altered looks, replied, " I am not the
person you take me for ! " Her displeasure froze the
very heart of the poet, so that he fled from her presence
in grief and dismay4
* Secretum Francisci Petrarch*. f Abb£ de Sade.
$ Canzone iv. In this, one of the most beautiful of his canzoni, Pe.
trarch narrates the early story of his love. In it occur the following
lines : —
" I' segui' tanto avanti il mio desire,
CIV un dl cacciando si com' io solea,
Mi mossi ; e quella fera bella e cruda
In una Ion tc ignuda
Si stava, quanto '1 Sol piu forte ardea.
Io, perchfe d1 altra vista non m' appago,
Stetti a mirarla : ond' ella ebbe vergogna,
E per fame vendetta, o per celarse,
I.' acqua nel viso con le mane mi sparse.
o diro, forse e par
< 'li' i, senti, trarmi della propria imago ;
Vero diro, forse e parra menzogna :
Ed un cervo solitario, e vago,
Di selva in selva ratio mi transforrno,
Ed ancor de' miei can' fuggo Io stormo."
The abbe1 de Sade, commenting on this poem with true French drynesa
F 3
70 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
No attentions on his part could make any impression
on her steady and virtuous mind. While love and youth
drove him on, she remained impregnable and firm ; and
when she found that he still rushed wildly forward, she
preferred forsaking, to following him to the precipice
down which he would have hurried her. Meanwhile, as
he gazed on her angelic countenance, and saw purity
painted on it, his love grew as spotless as herself. Love
transforms the true lover into a resemblance of the object
of his passion. In a town, which was the asylum of
vice, calumny never breathed a taint upon Laura's
name : her actions, her words, the very expression of her
countenance, and her slightest gestures were replete
with a modest reserve combined with sweetness, and
won the applause of all.*
The passion of Petrarch was purified and exalted at
the same time. Laura filled him with noble aspirations,
and divided him from the common herd. He felt that
her influence made him superior to vulgar ambition; and
rendered him wise, true, and great. She saved him in
the dangerous period of youth, and gave a worthy aim
to all his endeavours. The manners of his age permitted
one solace ; a Platonic attachment was the fashion of
the day. The troubadours had each his lady to adore,
to wait upon, and to celebrate in song ; without its being
supposed that she made him any return beyond a gra-
cious acceptance of his devoirs, and the allowing him to
make her the heroine of his verses. Petrarch endeavoured
to merge the living passion of his soul into this airy and
unsubstantial devotion. Laura permitted the homage :
she perceived his merit, and was proud of his admir-
of fancy, supposes that the scene actually occurred, and would point
out the very spot in the environs of Avignon ; not perceiving that the
poet, in an exquisite allegory, founded on the story of Acteon, describes
the wanderings of his mind, and the reveries in which he indulged concern-
ing her he loved ; and that both lady and fountain are the creations of his
imagination, which so duped and absorbed him; that passion changed him
to a solitary being, and his thoughts became the pursuers that perpetually
followed and tormented him.
* I adopt Petrarch's own words, here and elsewhere, translated from the
" Secretum Francisci Petrarchse."
PETRARCH. 71
ation ; she felt the truth of his affection, and indulged
the wish of preserving it and her own honour at the same
time. Without her inflexibility, this had been a dan-
gerous experiment : but she always kept her lover dis- ^
tant from her ; rewarding his reserve by smiles, and
repressing by frowns all the overflowings of his heart.
By her resolute severity, she incurred the danger
of ceasing to be the object of his attachment, and of *
losing the gift of an immortal name, which he has con-
ferred upon her. But Petrarch's constancy was proof
against hopelessness and time. He had too fervent an
admiration of her qualities, ever to change : he controlled
the vivacity of his feelings, and they became deeper
rooted. The struggle cost him his peace of mind. From -
the moment that love had seized upon his heart, the
tenor of his life was changed. He fed upon tears,
and took a fatal pleasure in complaints and sighs ; his
nights became sleepless, and the beloved name dwelt
upon his lips during the hours of darkness. He desired J
death, and sought solitude, devouring there his own
heart. He grew pale and thin, and the flower of youth
faded before its time. The day began and closed in
sorrow ; the varieties of her behaviour towards him
alone imparted joy or grief. He strove to flee and to
forget ; but her memory became, and for ever remained,
the ruling law of his existence.*
From this time his poetic life is dated. He probably J
composed verses before he saw Laura; but none have been
preserved except such as celebrate his passion. How soon,
after seeing her, he began thus to pour forth his full heart,
cannot be told ; probably love, which turns the man of the
most prosaic temperament into a versifier, impelled him,
at its birth, to give harmonious expression to the rush of
thought and feeling that it created. Latin was in use -
among the learned ; but ladies, unskilled in a dead
language, were accustomed to be sung by the Trouba-
dours in their native Provencal dialect. Petrarch loved
* Secretum Francisci Petrarchae.
F 4
72 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Italy, and all things Italian — he perceived the melody,
the grace, the earnestness, which it could embody.
The residence of the popes at Avignon caused it to be
generally understood ; and in the language of his native
J Florence, the poet addressed his lady, though she was
born under a less favoured sky. His sonnets and can-
zoni obtained the applause they deserved : they became
popular : and he, no doubt, hoped that the description
of his misery, his admiration, his almost idolatry, would
gain him favour in Laura's heart.
Petrarch had always a great predilection for travelling:
- the paucity of books rendered this a mode, — in his eyes,
almost the only mode, — for the attainment of the know-
ledge for which his nature craved. The first journey he
made after his return from Bologna, was to accompany
J Giacomo Colonna on his visit to the diocese of Lombes,
of which he had lately been installed bishop. Lombes
is a small town of Languedoc, not far from Thoulouse ;
it had been erected into a bishopric by pope John XXII.,
who conferred it on Giacomo Colonna, in recompence
of an act of intrepid daring successfully achieved in his
1330. behalf. It was the summer season, and the travellers
proceeded through the most picturesque part of France,
among the Pyrenees, to the banks of the Garonne. Be-
sides Petrarch, the bishop was accompanied by Lello,
the son of Pietro Stefani, a Roman gentleman ; and a
Frenchman named Louis. The friendship that Petrarch
formed with both, on this occasion, continued to the
end of their lives : many of his familiar letters are ad-
dressed to them under the appellations of Laelius and So-
crates ; for Petrarch's contempt of his own age gave him
that tinge of pedantry which caused him to confer on
his favourites the names of the ancients. Lello was a
man of education and learning ; he had long lived
under the protection of the Colonna family, by the
members of which he was treated as a son or brother.
The transalpine birth of Louis made Petrarch call him a
barbarian ; but he found him cultivated and refined,
endowed with a lively imagination, a gay temper, and
PETRARCH. 73
addicted to music and poetry. In the society of
these men, Petrarch passed a divine summer ; it was
one of those periods in his life, towards which his
thoughts frequently turned in after-times with yearning
and regret.*
On his return from Lombes, Petrarch became an in-
mate in the house of cardinal Colonna. He had leisure to
indulge in his taste for literature : he was unwearied in
the labour of discovering, collating, and copying ancient
manuscripts. To him we owe the preservation of many «-
Latin authors, which, buried in the dust of monastic
libraries, and endangered by the ignorance of their
monkish possessors, had been wholly lost to the world,
but for the enthusiasm and industry of a few learned
men, among whom Petrarch ranks pre-eminent. He
thought no toil burthensome, however arduous, which
drew from oblivion these monuments of former wisdom.
Often he would not trust to the carelessness of co-
pyists, but transcribed these works with his own hand.
His library was lost to the world, after his death, f
through the culpable negligence of the republic of Ve-
nice, to which he had given it ; but there still existd, >
in the Laurentian library of Florence, the orations of
Cicero, and his letters to Atticus in Petrarch's hand-
writing.
His ardour for acquiring knowledge was unbounded, *
— the society of a single town, and the few books that
he possessed, could not satisfy him. He believed that
travelling was the best school for learning. His great
desire was to visit Rome ; and a journey hither was pro-
jected by him and the bishop of Lombes. Delays inter-
vening, which prevented their immediate departure,
Petrarch made the tour of France, Flanders, and Bra- 1331.
bant : " For which journey," he says, " whatever cause <&tat.
may have been alleged, the real motive was a fervent ^*
desire of extending my experience."t He first visited
Paris, and took pleasure in satisfying himself of the J
• Epist ad Posterit f Ibid.
74 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
truth or falsehood of the accounts he had heard of that
city. His curiosity was insatiable; when the day
did not suffice, he devoted the night to his enquiries.
He found the city ill built and disagreeable, but he was
pleased with the inhabitants ; describing them, as a
traveller might of the present day, as gay, and fond of
society ; facile and animated in conversation, and amia-
ble in their assemblies and feasts ; eager in their search
after amusement, and driving away care by pleasure ;
prompt to discover and to ridicule the faults of others,
and covering their own with a thick veil.*
From Paris, Petrarch continued his travels through
Liege, Aix-la-Chapelle, and Cologne. In all places he
searched for ancient manuscripts. At Liege he dis-
covered two orations of Cicero, but could not find any one
capable of copying them in the whole town : it was with
difficulty that he procured some yellow and pale ink, with
which he transcribed them himself, t From Cologne
he turned his steps homeward, passing through Ar-
dennes on his way to Lyons. His heart warmed at the
expectation of returning to his friends ; and the image
of Laura took possession of his imagination. Whilst
wandering alone through the wild forest, which armed
men feared to traverse, no idea of danger occurred to
him ; love occupied all his thoughts : the form of Laura
flitted among the trees ; and the waving branches, and
the song of birds, and the murmuring streams, made her
movements and her voice present to his senses with all
the liveliness of reality. Twilight closed in, and im-
parted a portion of dismay, till, emerging from the dark
trees, he beheld the Rhone, which threaded the plains
towards the native town of the lady of his love ; and at
sight of the familiar river, a joyous rapture took place
of gloom. Two of the most graceful of his sonnets were
written to describe the fantastic images that haunted
him as he traversed the forest, and the kindling of his
soul when, emerging from its depths, he was, as it were,
* Epist ad Posterit. t Epist Fam.
PETRARCH. 75
serenely -welcomed by the delightful country and be-
loved river which appeared before him.*
At Lyons a disappointment awaited him : he met, on
his arrival/ a servant of the Colonna family, whom he
eagerly questioned concerning his friends; and heard, to
his infinite mortification, that Giacomo had departed for J
Italy, without waiting for his return. Deeply hurt by this
apparent neglect, he wrote a letter to the bishop, full of
bitter reproaches, which he enclosed to cardinal Colonna,
to be forwarded to his brother ; while he delayed some-
what his homeward journey, spending some weeks at
Lyons. He was absent from Avignon, on this occasion,
'scarcely more than three months.
On his return, he found that Giacomo Colonna was •*
not to blame ; he having repaired to Rome by command
of the pope, that he might pacify the discontented citi-
zens, and quell the disturbances occasioned by the in-
surgent nobles. Petrarch did not immediately join his
friend: he had a duty to perform towards cardinal
Colonna ; and the cEains which Laura threw around •*
him, made him slow to quit a city which she inhabited.
At length he embarked, and proceeded by sea to Civita 1335
Vecchia. The troubled state of the country around ^Etat
Rome rendered it unsafe for a solitary traveller. Petrarch "
took refuge in the romantic castle of Capranica, and *
wrote to his friends, announcing his arrival. They came
instantly to welcome and escort him. Petrarch at length
reached the city of his dreams. His excited imagination •
had painted the fallen mistress of the world in splendid
colours ; and, warned by his friends, he had feared dis-
appointment. But the sight of Rome produced no such J
effect : he was too real a poet, not to look with awe and
reverence on the mighty and beautiful remains which
meet the wanderer's eye at every turn in the streets of
Rome. Petrarch's admiration grew, instead of di-
» * Sonnets 53, 54. The Abb£ de Sade notices these sonnets. They prove
that the order of time it not preserved in the arrangement of his sonnets ; as
his letters prove that this journey through the forest of Ardennes preceded
many events recorded in poems which are represented as if of an earlier date.
? LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
minishing. He found the eternal city greater and more
majestic in her ruins than he had before figured ; and,,
instead of wondering how it was that she had given
laws to the whole earth, he was only surprised that her
supremacy had not been more speedily acknowledged.*
He found inexhaustible gratification in contemplating
js the magnificent ruins scattered around. He was accom-
panied in his researches by Giovanni da San Vito, brother
of Stefano Colonna, who, enveloped in the exile of his
family, had wandered for many years in Persia, Arabia,
and Egypt. Stefano Colonna himself resided in the
capital; and Petrarch found in him an image of those
majestic heroes who illustrated the annals of ancient
Rome.
On leaving Italy, Petrarch gratified his avidity for
v' travel by a long journey through Spain to Cadiz, and
northward, by the sea- shore, as far as the coasts of
England. He went to escape from the chains which
awaited him at Avignon ; and, seeking a cure for the
wounds which his heart had received, he endeavoured
•* to obtain health and liberty by visiting distant countries.
It is thus that he speaks of this tour in his letters.
But, though he went far, he did not stay long ; for, on
the l6th of August of the same year, he returned to
Avignon.
u He came back with the same feelings ; and grew more
and more dissatisfied with himself, and the state of agi-
tation and slavery to which the vicinity of Laura reduced
him. The young wife was now the mother of a family,
and more disinclined than ever to tarnish her good name,
or to endanger her peace, by the sad vicissitudes of illicit
passion. Disturbed, and struggling with himself, Pe-
trarch sought various remedies.for the ill that beset him.
April Among other attempts to divert his thoughts, he made
20. an excursion to Mont Ventoux, one of the highest moun-
J336. tains Of Eur0pe . which, placed in a country where every
32 fc* other hill is much lower, commands a splendid and ex-
» Epist Fam.
PETRARCH. 77
tensive view. There is a letter of his to his friend and
spiritual director, father Dionisio Robertis, of San Se-
polcro, whom he knew in Paris, giving an account of the
expedition. It was a work of labour to climb the pre-
cipitous mountain ; with difficulty, and after many
fatiguing deviations from the right road, he reached its
summit. He gazed around on the earth, spread like a
map below ; he fixed his eyes on the Alps, which di- J
vided him from Italy ; and then, reverting to himself,
he thought — "Ten years ago you quitted Bologna:
how are you changed since then ! " The purity of the
air, and the vast prospect before him, gave subtlety and
quickness to his perceptions. He reflected on the
agitation of his soul, but not yet arrived in port, he felt
that he ought not to let his thoughts dwell on the
tempests that shook his nature. He thought of her he
loved, not, as before, with hope and animation, but with
a sad struggling love, for which he blushed. He would
have changed his feeling to hate ; but such an attempt
were vain : he felt ashamed and desperate, as he repeated
the verse of Ovid —
" Odero, si potero; si non, invitus amabo."
For three years this passion had reigned over him with-
out control : he now combated it ; but his struggles
saddened, while they sobered him. Again he turned his
eyes from his own heart to the scene around. As the
sun declined, he regarded the vast expanse of the distant
Mediterranean, the long chain of mountains which di.
vides France from Spain, and the Rhone which flowed
at his feet. He feasted his eyes long on this glorious
spectacle, while pious emotions filled his bosom. He had
taken with him (for Petrarch was never without a book)
the volume of St. Augustin's Confessions : he opened
it by chance, and his eyes fell on the following
passage : — " Men make journeys to visit the summits
of mountains, the waves of the sea, the course of rivers,
and the immensity of ocean, while they neglect their
own souls." Struck by the coincidence, Petrarch turned
78 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
his thoughts inward, and prayed that he might be en-
abled to vanquish himself. The moon shone upon their
descent from the mountain (he was . accompanied by
his brother Gerard, whom he had selected from among
his friends to join him in his excursion) ; and arriving
at Maula^ene, a town at the foot of Mont Ventoux,
Petrarch relieved his mind by pouring out his heart in
a letter to Dionisio Robertis.
. The immediate result of the reflections thus awakened,
was his retirement to Vaucluse. When a boy, he had
visited this picturesque valley and its fountain, in com-
pany with his father, mother, and brother. He had then
been charmed by its beauty and seclusion : and now,
weary of travelling, and resolved to fly from Laura, he
took refuge in the solitude he could here command.
He bought a small house and field, removed his books,
and established himself. Since then Vaucluse has been
often visited for his sake-; and he who was enchanted
by its loneliness and beauty, has described, in letters and
verses, with fond and glowing expressions, the charm
that it possessed for him. The valley is narrow, as its
name testifies — shut in by high and craggy hills ; the
river Sorgue traverses its depth ; and on one side, a vast
cavern in the precipitous rock presents itself, from
which the fountain flows, that is the source of the
river. Within the cave, the shadows are black as night ;
the hills are clothed by umbrageous trees, under whose
shadow the tender grass, starred by innumerable flowers,
offers agreeable repose. The murmur of the torrent is
perennial : that, and the song of the birds, are the only
sounds heard. Such was the retreat that the poet chose.
He saw none but the peasants who took care of his
house and tended his little farm. The only woman near
was the hard-working wife of the peasant, old and
withered. No sounds of music visited his ears : he
heard, instead, the carolling of the birds, and the brawling
waters. Often he remained in silence from morning
till night, wandering among the hills while the sun was
yet low ; and taking refuge, during the heat of the day,
PETRARCH. 79
in his shady garden, which, sloping down towards the
Sorgue, was terminated on one side by inaccessible
rocks. At night, after performing his clerical duties
(for he was canon of Lombes), he rambled among the
hills ; often entering, at midnight, the cavern, whose
gloom, even during the day, struck the soul with awe.
The peasantry about him were poor and hard-
working. His food was usually black bread ; and he was J
so abstemious, that the servant he brought with him
from Avignon quitted him, unable to endure the solitude
and privations of his retreat. He was then waited on
by the neighbouring cottager, a fisherman, whose life had
been spent among fountains and rivers, deriving his sub-
sistence from the rocks. "To call this man faithful," say s _,
Petrarch, " is a tame expression : he was fidelity itself."
Without being able to read, he revered and cherished the
books his master loved ; and, all rude and illiterate, his
pious regard for the poet raised him almost to the rank
of a friend. His wife was yet more rustic. Her skin -
was burned by the sun till it resembled nothing human.
She was humble, faithful, and laborious ; passing her
life in the fields, working under the noonday sun ; while
the evening was dedicated to indoor labour. She never
complained, nor ever showed any mark of discontent.
She slept on straw : her food was the coarsest black
bread ; her drink water, in which she mingled a little
wine, as sour as vinegar.
It was here that Petrarch hoped to subdue his passion, *
and to forget Laura. " Fool that I was !" he exclaims in
after-life, " not to have remembered the first school-
boy lesson — that solitude is the nurse of love !" How, (
with his thoughts for his sole companions, preying per-
petually on his own heart, could he forget her who
occupied him exclusively in courts and cities? And
thus he tells, in musical and thrilling accents, how,
amidst woods, and hills, and murmuring waves, her
image was painted on every object, and contemplated by
him till he forgot himself to stone, more dead than the
living rocks among which he wandered. It is almost
80 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
impossible to translate Petrarch's poetry ; for his suhtle
and delicate thoughts, when generalised, seem common-
place ; and his harmony and grace, which have never
heen equalled, are inimitable. The only translations
which retain the spirit 'of the original, are by lady
Dacre ; and we extract her version of one of the can-
zoni, as a specimen of his style, and as affording a vivid
picture of his wild melancholy life among the solitary
mountains.
i " From hill to hill I roam, from thought to thought,
7 y "With Love my guide ; the beaten path 1 fly,
/ For there in vain the tranquil life is sought :
If 'mid the waste well forth a lonely rill,
Or deep embosom'd a low valley lie,
In its calm shade my trembling heart is still ;
And there, if Love so will,
I smile, or weep, or fondly hope or fear,
While on my varying brow, that speaks the soul,
The wild emotions roll,
Now dark, now bright, as shifting skies appear;
That whosoe'er has proved the lover's state
Would say, ' He feels the flame, nor knows his future fate.'
" On mountains high, in forests drear and wide,
I find repose, and from the throng'd resort
Of man turn fearfully my eyes aside ;
At each lone step thoughts ever new arise
Of her I love, who oft with cruel sport
Will mock the pangs I bear, the tears, the sighs ;
Yet e'en these ills I prize,
Though bitter, sweet — nor would they were removed ;
For my heart whispers me, ' Love yet has power
To grant a happier hour :
Perchance, though self-despised, thou yet art loved.'
E'en then my breast a passing sigh will heave,.
Ah! when, or how, may I a hope so wild believe?
" Where shadows of high rocking pines dark wave,
I stay my footsteps ; and on some rude stone,
With thought intense, her beauteous face engrave :
Roused from the trance, my bosom bathed I find
With tears, and cry, ' Ah ! whither thus alone
Hast thou far wander'd ? and whom left behind ?'
But as with fixed mind
On this fair image I impassion'd rest,
And, viewing her, forget awhile my ills,
Love my rapt fancy fills ;
In its own error sweet the soul is blest,"
While all around so bright the visions glide;
O ! might the cheat endure, — I ask not aught beside.
" Her form portray'd within the lucid stream
Will oft appear, or on the verdant lawn,
Or glossy beech, or fleecy cloud, will gleam
So lovely fair, that Leda's self might say,
Her Helen sinks eclipsed, as at the dawn
A star when cover'd by the solar ray :
And, as o'er wilds I stray,
Where the eye nought but savage nature meets,
PETRARCH. 81
There Fancy most her brightest tints employs ;
But when rude truth destroys
The loved illusion of those dreamed sweets,
I sit me down on the cold rugged stone,
Less cold, less dead than I, and think and weep alone.
" Where the huge mountain rears his brow sublime,
On which no neighbouring height its shadow flings,
Led by desire intense the steep I climb;
And tracing in the boundless space each woe,
"Whose sad remembrance my torn bosom wrings,
Tears, that bespeak the heart o'erfraught, will flow.
While viewing all below,
From me, I cry, what worlds of air divide
The beauteous form, still absent and still near!
Then chiding soft the tear,
I whisper, low, haply she, too, has sigh'd
That thou art far away ; a thought so sweet
Awhile my labouring soul will of its burden cheat
" Go thou, my song, beyond that Alpine bound,
Where the pure smiling heavens are most serene :
There, by a murmuring stream, may I be found,
Whose gentle airs around
Waft grateful odours from the laurel green ;
Nought but my empty form roams here unblest,
There dwells my heart with her who steals it from my breast." *
Petrarch's Italian poetry, written either to please his
lady or to relieve the overflowing of his heart, bears in
every line the stamp of warm and genuine, though of
refined and chivalric, passion. It has been criticised as
too imaginative, and defaced by conceits : of the latter J
there are a few, confined to a small portion of the son-
nets. They will not be admired now, yet, perhaps, they
are not those of the poems which came least spon-
taneously from the heart. Those have experienced little
of the effects of passion, of love, grief, or terror, who
do not know that conceits often spring naturally from
such. Shakspeare knew this ; and he seldom describes
the outbursts of passion unaccompanied by fanciful
imagery which borders on conceit. Still more false is
the notion, that passion is not, in its essence, highly •>
imaginative. Hard and dry critics, who neither feel
themselves nor sympathise in the feelings of others,
alone can have made this accusation : these people,
* The envoi shows that this canzone was written in Italy, probably
when Petrarch was residing at Parma, a few years after. Yet being able
to quote only a poem of which there exists a worthy translation, I could
not refrain from extracting it ; and though alluding to another country, and
finished there, it is almost impossible not to believe that it was conceived
at Vaucluse, and that it breathes the spirit that tilled him in that solitude.
VOL. I. G
82 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
whose inactive and colourless fancy naturally suggests
no new combination nor fresh tint of beauty, suppose
that is a cold exercise of the mind, when
" The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to eaxth, from earth to heaven."
As they with difficulty arrive at comprehending poetic
creations, they believe that they were produced by dint
of hard labour and deep study. The truth is the op-
posite of this. To the imaginative, fanciful imagery
and thoughts, whose expression seems steeped in the
hues of dawn, are natural and unforced : when the mind
of such is calm, their conceptions resemble those of
other men ; but when excited by passion, when love,
or patriotism, or the influence of nature, kindles the
soul, it becomes natural, nay, imperative to them to
embody their thoughts, and to give " a local habitation
and a name" to the emotions that possess them. The
remarks of critics on the overflowings of poetic minds
remind one of the traveller who expressed such wonder
when, on landing at Calais, he heard little children talk
French.
Petrarch, on the other hand, would deceive us, or
rather deceived himself, when he alludes depreciatingly
to his Italian poetry. Latin was the language of learned
men : he deemed it degrading to write for the people ;
and, fancying that the difficulty of writing Latin was
an obstacle glorious to overcome, he treated with disdain,
any works expressed in the vulgar tongue. Yet even
while he said that these compositions were puerile, he
felt in his heart the contrary. He bestowed great pains
on correcting them, and giving them that polished grace
for which they are remarkable. Still his reason (which
in this instance, as in others, is often less to be depended
upon than our intuitive convictions,) assured him that
he could never hold a high place among poets till he
composed a Latin poem.
While living in solitude at Vaucluse, yet ambitious
that the knowledge of his name should pass beyond the
confines of his narrow valley, and be heard even in
PETRARCH. 83
Italy, he meditated some great work worthy of the
genius he felt within him. He at first contemplated «>
writing a history of Rome, from Romulus to Titus ;
till one day the idea of an epic poem, on the subject of
his favourite hero, Scipio Africanus, struck him. He
instantly commenced it with all the ardour of a first
conception, and continued for some time to build up
cold dull Latin hexameters. It is curious to mark how
ill he succeeded : but the structure and spirit of the
language he used was then totally unknown ; so that,
while we lament the mis-spending of his time, we cannot
wonder at his failure.
He passed several years thus almost cut off from
society : his books were his great resource ; he was never
without one in his hand. He relates in a letter, how,
as a playful experiment, a friend locked up his library, -<
intending to exclude him from it for three days; but the
poet's misery caused him to restore the key on the first
evening : — " And I verily believe I should have become
insane," Petrarch writes, " if my mind had been longer
deprived of its necessary nourishment." The friend who
thus played with his passion for reading, was Philip de w
Cabassoles, bishop of Cavaillon. Cavaillon is a pretty but
insignificant town, situated on the slope of a mountain
near the Durance, twelve miles distant from Avignon,
and six from Vaucluse. He became intimate with Pe-
trarch here, and they cemented a friendship which lasted
his life. Sometimes Petrarch visited Cabassoles at
Cabrieres, where he resided ; often the bishop came to
the poet's cottage. They frequently passed the livelong
day together in the woods, without thinking of refresh-
ment, or whole nights among their books, when morn- •»
ing often dawned upon them unawares. After two
years' residence in this seclusion, Petrarch continued so
pleased with it, that he wrote to Giacomo Colonna, who
had endeavoured, by promises of preferment and ad-
vantage, to entice him from it, imploring him to let
him remain in a position so congenial to his disposition.
" You know/' he says, " how false and vain are the
G 2
84 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
enticements of a court ; and that the men most in favour
there are the fools and rogues who attain dignities and
places through adulation and simony. Why, then,
should you, a man of honour, desire that I should re-
turn to a court ? And even if it were possible that I
should obtain any thing from the munificence of the
pope, the detestable vices of the court are horrible to me.
When I quitted the papal residence, know that I sang
the psalm l In exitu Israel ex ./Egypto.' I enjoy, in
the delightful solitude of Vaucluse, a sweet and im-
perturbable tranquillity, and the placid and blameless
leisure of study. Any spare time I may have I go to
Cabrieres to amuse myself. Ah ! if you were permitted
to take up your abode in this valley, you would assuredly
be disgusted, not only with the pope and cardinals, but
the whole world. I am firmly resolved never to behold
the court again."
In this letter, however, he but half expresses the
-' cause of his hatred to Avignon ; for he does not allude
to Laura, while it was the memory of her that not only
made him fly the city in which she lived, but tremble
at the mere thought of how near he still was. And
while he describes the heavenly tranquillity of his se-
clusion, and the beauty that adorned it, he exclaims,
" But the vicinity of Avignon poisons all." So deep
was his fear of reviving his passion by seeing its object,
that he never even visited that city for a few days. On
-' one occasion, hearing that his friend, William da Pas-
trengo, had arrived there, he repaired thither instantly
to see him : but, on his arrival within the precincts of
the fatal walls, he felt his chains fall so heavily around
- him, that, resolved to cast them off at once, without
tarrying an hour, without seeing his friend, the same
night he returned to Vaucluse, and then wrote to excuse
himself; alleging, as his motive, his desire to escape
from the net of passion that enveloped him in that town.
At the same time, with the contradictory impulses of a
' lover, he entreated the painter, Simon Memmi, a pupil
of Giotto, just arrived in Provence, and in high esteem
PETRARCH. 85
with the pope and cardinals, to execute for him a small
portrait of Laura.* Simon consented ; and was so pleased
with the model thus presented him, that he frequently
afterwards introduced her face into his pictures of saints
and angels. Petrarch repaid his friend's complaisance
hy two sonnets of praise and commendation.
In the imaginary conversations which Petrarch pic-
tures himself to have held with St. Augustine, the saint J
tells him that he is bound by two adaTnahtine chains —
love and glory. To free himself from the first of these
he had retreated to Vaucluse, and found the attempt
vain. The second passion of his soul became even
more strong, allying itself to the first, for he wished
Laura's lover to be renowned. This was also more
successful, as, beside the honour in which he was held
hy all who knew him, it proved that his name was
heard in distant countries, and his merit acknowledged.
He had before entertained a vague wish for the_ laurel J
crown of poetry ; but it was beyond his hopes, when,
on the same day, the 24th of August, 1340, while at 1340.
Vaucluse, he received letters from the Roman senate, -32tat.
and from the chancellor of the university of Paris, in- ^6*
viting him to receive it. Hesitating to which city to
yield the preference, he wrote to ask the advice of car-
dinal Colonna ; and, counselled by him, as well as fol-
lowing his own predilection, decided in favour of Rome.
Another circumstance influenced Petrarch in this
choice. Not long before, his friend Dionisio Robertis
had visited him at Vaucluse on his way to the court of
* This was not a painting, but a small marble medallion. It has been,
since the fourteenth century, in possession of the Peruzzi family at Flo-
rence. Behind the portrait of Laura are four Italian verses, not inserted
in any editions of Petrarch : —
" Splendida luce cui chiaro se vede
Quel nel che pub mostrar nel mondo amorc,
O vero exemplo del sopran valore
Ed'ognimeravijflia intiera fede."
There is a medallion also of Petrarch, similar in form to the other, behind
which is inscribed —
" Simion de Senis me fecit,
Sub Anno Domini MCCCXLIIII."
The authenticity of these bas-reliefs is acknowledged in Italy ; a pamphlet,
giving an account of them, was published in Paris, 1821, written by one of
the Peruzzi family.
3 3
86 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Robert king of Naples. From him Petrarch heard of
the literary tastes and liberal disposition of this
amiable monarch. He had already meditated a visit to
him, and letters had been interchanged between them.
The circumstance of his coronation gave him a fair ex-
cuse for paying him a visit. In the ardour of an age
•? scarcely yet mature, he believed himself worthy of the
honour conferred on him ; but he tells us that he felt
ashamed of relying only on his own testimony and that
of the persons who invited him. Perhaps the desire of
display, and of proving to the world that he was no
illiterate pretender, was the stronger motive. However
this might be, he made choice of the king of Naples,
more illustrious in his eyes for his learning than his
crown, to examine his claim to distinction, and be the
judge of his deserts.*
1341 He lost no time in repairing to the court of king
JEtat. Robert, who received him with a warmth of friendship
that excited his deepest gratitude. Hearing the object
of the poet's visit, he expressed great delight, and con-
sidered the choice made of him, among all mortals, to
be the judge of his merits, as glorious to himself.
During the many conversations they held together,
4 Petrarch showed the monarch the commencement of
his poem on Africa. Robert, highly delighted, begged
that it might be dedicated to him : the poet gladly as-
sented, and kept his promise, though the king died be-
fore it could be fulfilled. The examination of his
acquirements lasted three days, after which the king
declared him worthy of the laurel, and sent an ambas-
sador to be present on his part when the crown was
conferred. Petrarch repaired to Rome for the cere-
mony, and was crowned in the capital with great so-
' lemnity, in presence of all the nobles and high-born
ladies of the city. " I then," writes Petrarch, " thought
myself worthy of the honour : love and enthusiasm bore
me on. But the laurel did not increase my knowledge,
while it gave birth to envy in the hearts of many."f
* EpisL ad Posterit t *bid.
PETRARCH. 87
Leaving Rome soon after his coronation, Petrarch
intended to return to Avignon, but passing [through •*
Parma he was detained by his friend Azzo Correggio,
who ruled the city, governing it with incomparable
wisdom and moderation. The friendship between Azzo
and Petrarch had commenced at A\ignon, where, for
the first and only time, Petrarch had been induced to
take on himself the office of a barrister, and pleaded the •*
cause of the Correggii against their enemies the Rossi
before the pope, and succeeded in obtaining a decision
in their favour. This, as is mentioned, is the only oc- -
casion on which Petrarch played the advocate ; and he
boasts of having gained the cause for his clients with-
out using towards their adversaries the language of
derision and sarcasm.
Petrarch, meanwhile, remembering the honour he had
received, was solicitous not to appear unworthy of
it; and, on a day, wandering among the hills and
crossing the river Ensa, he entered the wood of Selva *
Piana : struck by the beauty of the place, he turned his
thoughts to his neglected poem of Africa ; and, excited
by an enthusiasm for his subject which had long been
dormant, he composed that day, and on each following
one, some verses. On returning to Parma he sought
and found a tranquil and fit dwelling: buying the
house that thus pleased him, he fixed himself at Parma,
and continued to occupy himself with his poem with so
much ardour, that he brought it to a conclusion with a
speed that excited his own surprise.*
At this time Petrarch suffered the first of those
losses which afterwards cast such gloomy shadows over J
his life, in the death, first of Thomas of Messina, and
then of a dearer friend, Giacomo Colonna. Tommaso
Caloria of Messina had studied with Petrarch at
Bologna, and many of his letters are addressed to him.
There existed a strict friendship between them, both
loving and cultivating literature. His early death
deeply affected the warm-hearted poet. The impression
* Epist ad PosteriL
O 4
88 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
he received was so melancholy and hitter, that he desired
to die also ; and a fever, the consequence of his grief,
made him imagine that in reality his end was approach-
ing. To add to his disquietude, he heard of the illness
of Giacomo Colonna. The bishop was at that time re-
siding at Lombes, apart from all his family, and Pe-
trarch was about to join him to fulfil his duties as
canon. At this time he one night dreamt that he saw
Giacomo Colonna, in his garden at Parma, crossing the
rivulet that traversed it. He went to meet him, asking
him, with surprise, whence he came? whither he
was going in such haste ? and wherefore unattended ?
The bishop replied, smiling, (f Do you not remember
when you visited the Garonne Avith me, how you dis-
liked the thunder-storms of the Pyrenees ? They now
annoy me also, and I am returning to Rome." So say-
ing he hastened on, repelling with his hand Petrarch,
who was about to follow him, saying, " Remain,
you must not now accompany me." As he spoke, his
countenance changed, and it was overspread with the
hues of death. Nearly a month after, Petrarch heard
that the bishop had died during the night on which
this dream had occurred. The poet was a faithful and
believing son of the church of Rome, but he was not
superstitious, and saw nothing supernatural in this
affecting coincidence. The loss of his friend and patron
grieved him deeply, and his mourning was renewed
soon after by the death of Dionisio Rohertis. These
reiterated losses made so profound an impression, that
he trembled and turned pale on receiving any letter,
and feared at each instant to hear of some new disaster.
Satisfied with the tranquillity which he enjoyed at
Parma, he resisted the frequent and earnest solicitations
of his friends at Avignon to return among them. He
did not forget Laura. Her image often occupied him.
Tt was here we may believe that he wrote the canzone
before quoted, and many sonnets, which showed with
what lively and earnest thoughts he cherished the pas-
sion which had so long reigned over him. He could
PETRARCH. 89
not write letters ; but as it is a lover's dearest solace to
make his mistress aware that his attachment survives •>
time and absence, Petrarch, we may easily suppose, was
glad, by the medium of his heart- felt poetry, to commu-
nicate with her who, he hoped, prized his affection, even
if she did not silently return it. Still love, while far
from her, did not so pertinaciously and cruelly torment, J
and .he was unwilling to trust himself within the in-
fluence of her presence. It required a powerful mo-
tive to induce him to pass the Alps ; but this occurred
after no long period of time. Italy, and especially
Rome, was torn by domestic faction and the lawlessness
of the nobles. Petrarch saw in the secession of the J
popes to Avignon the cause of these disasters. His
patriotic spirit kindled with indignation, that the head
of the church and the world should desert the queen of
cities, and inhabit an insignificant province. He had
often exerted all his eloquence to induce successive popes
to return to the palaces and temples of Italy. Pope
Benedict XII. died at this time, and Clement VI. was ~<
elected to fill the papal chair. One of the first in-
cidents of his reign was the arrival of an embassy
from Rome, soliciting the restoration of the papal resi-
dence. Petrarch, having been already made citizen of
that city, was chosen one of the deputies.* He and 1 342
Rienzi (who afterwards played so celebrated a part) &&*•'
addressed the pope. Their representations were of no 38>
avail ; but Clement rewarded the poet by naming him
prior of Migliarino in the diocese of Pisa.
Petrarch remained at Avignon. The sight of Laura •>
gave fresh energy to a passion which had survived the
lapse of fifteen years. She was no longer the blooming
girl who had first charmed him. The cares of life had
dimmed her beauty. She was the mother of many
children, and had been afflicted at various times by ill-
nesses. Her home was not happy. Her husband, with-
out loving or appreciating her, was ill-tempered and
jealous. Petrarch acknowledged that if her personal
* Abb-' de Sa.lo
90 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
charms had been her sole attraction he had already
ceased to love her. But his passion was nourished by
sympathy and esteem ; and above all, by that mysterious
tyranny of love,, which, while it exists, the mind of man
seems to have no power of resisting, though in feebler
minds it sometimes vanishes like a dream. Petrarch
was also changed in personal appearance. His hair was
sprinkled with grey, and lines of care and sorrow
trenched his face. On both sides the tenderness of af-
fection began to replace, in him the violence of passion,
in her the coyness and severity she had found necessary
to check his pursuit. The jealousy of her husband
opposed obstacles to their seeing each other.* They
met as they could in public walks and assemblies.
Laura sang to him, and a soothing familiarity grew up
between them as her fears became allayed, and he looked
forward to the time when they might sit together and
converse without dread. He had a confidant in a
Florentine poet, Sennucio del Bene, attached to the
service of cardinal Colonna, to whom many of his
sonnets are addressed, now asking him for advice, now
relating the slight but valued incidents of a lover's life.
He had another confidant into whose ear to pour the
history of his heart. This was the public. In those
days, when books were rare, reading was a luxufy re-
served for a few, and it was chiefly by oral communi-
cation that a poet's contemporaries became acquainted
with his productions ; and there was a class of men,
not poets themselves, who chiefly subsisted by repeating
the productions of others : — " men," writes Petrarch,
tf of no genius, but endowed with memory and industry.
Unable to compose themselves, they recite the verses of
others at the tables of the great, and receive gifts in
return. They are chiefly solicitous to please their
audience by novelty. How often have they importuned
me with entreaties for my yet unfinished poems ! Often
I refused. Sometimes, moved by the poverty or worth
of my applicants, I yield to their desires. The loss is
^ * Abb£ de SMe.
PETRARCH. 91
small to me, the gain" to them is great. Many have
visited me, poor and naked, who, having obtained what
they asked, returned, loaded with presents, and dressed
in silk, to thank me." These were the booksellers of •/
the middle ages. It was thus that the Italian poetry
of Petrarch became known ; and he, finding that it
was often disfigured in repetition, took pains at last to J
collect and revise it. He performed the latter task
with much care ; and afterwards said, that though he
saw a thousand faults in his other works, he had brought >
his Italian poetry to as great a degree of perfection as
he was capable of bestowing.
He applied himself to Greek at this time under Ber-
nardo Barlaam, a Calabrian by birth, but educated at
Constantinople. He had come to Avignon as ambas-
sador from the Greek emperor Andronicus, for the pur-
pose of reconciling the Greek and Roman churches.
They read several of the Dialogues of Plato together.
The book entitled " The Secret of Francesco Petrarca" -•
was written at this period. This work is in the form
of dialogues with St. Augustin. Petrarch, assisted by
the questions and remarks of the saint, examines the
state of his mind, laying bare every secret of his soul,
its weaknesses and its fears, with the utmost ingenuous-
ness. He relates the struggles of his passion for Laura, *
and accuses himself of that love of glory which was the
spur of so many of his actions. He speaks of the con-
stitutional melancholy of his disposition, which often
rendered him gloomy and almost despairing ; and he
is bid by the saint to seek a remedy for his sorrows,
and make atonement for his faults, by dedicating here-
after all his faculties to God.
His literary pursuits were interrupted by a public J
duty. His friend Robert, king of Naples, died, and
was succeeded by his daughter Giovanna, married to
Andrea, prince of Hungary. The greatest dissension
reigned between the royal pair; besides which, the 1343
young queen was not of an age to govern, and the j£tat.
pope had pretensions to supremacy during her mino- 39.
92 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
rity. Petrarch was sent as ambassador to establish the
J papal claim ; and he was commissioned, also, by cardinal
Colonna, to obtain the release of some prisoners of rank
unjustly detained at Naples.
During this mission he became attached to the party
J of queen Giovanna, who inherited her father's love of
letters ; so that afterwards, when her husband was mur-
dered, he believed her to be innocent of all share in the
crime. He was displeased, however, with the court
and the gladiatorial exhibitions in fashion there. Having
obtained the liberty of the prisoners, and brought his
mission from the pope to a successful conclusion, he
-' returned to Parma. This part of Italy was in a state of
dreadful disturbance, arising from the wars carried on
by the various lords of Parma, Verona, Ferrara, Bologna,
and Padua. Petrarch, besieged, as it were, in the first-
named town, was obliged to remain. He had still the
house he had bought, and the books he had collected and
left in Italy. He loved his cisalpine Parnassus, as he
named his Italian home, in contradistinction to his
transalpine Parnassus at Vaucluse ; and, occupying him-
self with his poem of Africa, he was content to prolong
1345. his stay in his native country. At length the roads
JEtat. became safe, and he returned to Avignon.
41> And now an event occurred which electrified Italy,
and filled the papal court with astonishment and dis-
quietude. Nicola di Rienzi, inspired by a desire to free
his townsmen from the cruel tyranny of the nobles, with
wonderful promptitude and energy, seized upon the
government of Rome, assumed the name of tribune,
and reduced all the men of rank, with Stefano Colonna
at their head, to make public submission to his power.
- The change he produced in the state of the country was
miraculous. Before, travellers scarcely ventured, though
armed and in bodies, to traverse the various states:
under him the roads became secure ; and his emissaries,
bearing merely a white wand in their hands, passed un-
molested from one end of Italy to the other. Order and
plenty reigned through the land. The pope and car.
PETRARCH. 93
dinals were filled with alarm; while Petrarch hailed
with glowing enthusiasm the restoration of peace and
empire to his beloved country. He wrote the tribune •*
letterst full of encouragement and praise. His heart
swelled with delight at the prospect of the renewed
glories of Rome ; and such was his blind exultation, that
he scarcely mourned the death of several of the most J
distinguished members of the Colonna family, who fell
in the struggle between the nobles and Rienzi.
He desired to return to Italy to enjoy the triumph of -
liberty and law over oppression and licence. More and
more he hated Avignon. Pppe Clement VI. was a man '
of refinement, and a munificent prince : but he was
luxurious and dissolute ; so that the vices of the court,
which filled the poet with immeasurable abhorrence,
increased during his reign. He had offered Petrarch J
the dignity of bishop, and the honourable and influential
post of apostolic secretary ; but the poet declined to
accept the proferred rank. Love of independence was
strong in his heart ; and he desired no wealth beyond
competence, which was secured to him by the prefer-
ment he already enjoyed. He was at this time arch- -*
deacon of Parma, as well as canon of various cathedrals.
He obtained with difficulty the consent of his friends to
abandon Avignon for Italy. Cardinal Colonna re- -
proached him bitterly for deserting him ; and Laura
saw him depart with regret. When he went to take
leave of her, he found her (as he describes in several
of his sonnets) surrounded by a circle of ladies. Her
mien was dejected; a cloud overcast her face, whose
expression seemed to say, " Who takes my faithful
friend from me?" Petrarch was struck to the heart by •»
a sad presentiment : the emotion was mutual ; they
both seemed to feel that they should never meet again.
Yet, restless and discontented, he would not stay.
He had no ties of home. His brother Gerard had ;
taken vows, and become a Carthusian monk : he invited
Petrarch to follow his example; but the poet's love
of independence prevented this, as well as every other
94 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
servitude. Belonging to the Romish church, he could
J not marry ; and though he had two children he was
not attached to their mother, of whom nothing more is
known except the dqglaration, in the letters of legitimacy
obtained afterwards for her son, that she was not a
married woman. Of these two children the daughter
was yet an infant. The boy, now ten years of age, he
had placed at Verona, under the care of Rinaldo da
Villafranca.
1347'. Leaving Avignon, Petrarch passed through Genoa,
./Etat. where he heard of the follies and downfall of Rienzi ;
43. instead, therefore, of proceeding to Rome, he repaired
to his house at Parma.
1348. The fatal year now began which cast mourning and
^Etat. gloom over the rest of his life. It was a year fatal to
44. the whole world. The plague, which had been extend-
ing its ravages over Asia, entered Europe. As if for
< an omen of the greater calamity, a disastrous earth-
quake occurred on the 25th of January. Petrarch was
timid : he feared thunder — he dreaded the sea ; and
the alarming concussion of nature that shook Italy
filled him with terror. The plague then extended its
inroads to increase his alarm. It spread its mortal
ravages far and wide : nearly one half of the population
J of the world became its prey. Petrarch saw thousands
die around him, and he trembled for his friends : he
heard that it was at Avignon, and his friend Sennucio '
del Bene had fallen its victim. A thousand sad pre-
sentiments haunted his mind. He recollected the altered
countenance of Laura when he last saw her ; he dreamed
of her as dead ; her pale image hovered near his couch,
bidding him never expect to see her more. At last,
J the fatal truth reached him: he received intelligence
of her death on the I9th of May. By a singular coin-
< cidence, she died on the anniversary of the day when he
first saw her. She was taken ill on the 3d of April,
and languished but three days. As soon as the symp-
toms of the plague declared themselves, she prepared to
die: she made her will, which is dated on the 3d of
PETRARCH. 95
April*, and received the sacraments of the church.
On the 6th she died, surrounded to the last by her
friends and the noble ladies of Avignon, who braved
the danger of infection to attend on one so lovely and
so beloved. On the evening of the same day on which
she died, she was interred in the chapel of the Cross J
which her husband had lately built in the church of the
Minor Friars at Avignon. With her was buried a •*
leaden box, fastened with wire, which enclosed a medal
and a sealed parchment, on which was inscribed an
Italian sonnet. If the sonnet were the composition of
Petrarch, as the sense of it would intimate, although
its want of merit renders it doubtful, this box must
have been placed in the grave at a subsequent period.
The sensitive heart of Petrarch had often dwelt^on *
the possibility of Laura's death. Although she was
onljr three years his junior, he comforted himself by
the reflection that as he had entered life first so he should
be the first to quit it.f This fond hope was disap-
appointed : he lost her who, for more than twenty *
years, had continually been the object of all his thoughts:
he lost her at a period when he began to hope that,
while time diminished the violence of his passion, it
might draw them nearer as friends. The sole melan- >'
choly consolation now afforded him /was derived from
the contemplation of the past. That at each hour of
the day her memory might be more vividly present
to his thoughts, he fixed to the binding of his copiL-Of J
Virgil a record of her death, written in Latin, of which «•
the following~is a translation : — — «
" Laura, illustrious through her own virtues, and '
long celebrated by my verses, first appeared to me in '
my youth, in the year of our Lord 1327, on the sixth
day of April, in the church of Ste. Claire, at Avignon,
at the ninth hour:}: of the morning. And in the same
city, during the same month of April, on the same day
* Abb6 de S&de. f Secretum Francisci Petrarch®.
| Petrarch uses church time, in which the ninth hour answers to
96 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
of the month, and at the same early hour, but in the
year 1348, this light was withdrawn from the world;
while I, alas ! ignorant of my fate, chanced to be at
Verona. The unhappy intelligence reached me through the
letters of my friend Louis, at Parma, in the same year, on
the morning of the nineteenth of May. Her chaste and
beautiful body was deposited, on the evening of her
death in the church of the Minor Friars at Avignon.*
Her soul, as Seneca says of Africanus, I believe to have
returned to the heaven whence it came. To mingle some
sweetness with the bitter memory of this miserable
event, I have selected this place to record it, which
often meets my eyes ; so that by frequent view of these
words, and by due estimation of the swift passage of
time, I may be reminded that nothing henceforth can
please me in life, and that, my chief tie being broken, it
is time that I should escape from this Babylon ; and,
by the grace of God, I shall find this easy, while I reso-
lutely and boldly reflect on the vain cares of years gone
by, on my futile hopes, and on their unexpected down-
fall."t
Death consecrates and deepens the sentiment with
which we regard a beloved object j it is no wonder,
therefore, that Petrarch, whose sensibility and warmth
of feeling surpassed that of all other men, should have
gone beyond himself in the poems he wrote subsequent
to Laura's death. Nothing can be more tender, more
* The perfect accord between 'this record in Petrarch's handwriting,
and the inscription on the coffin of Laura de Sade, discovered in the church
of the Minor Friars at Avignon, puts the identity of the lady beyond all
doubt. This seems to have taken place for the very purpose of informing
posterity of who she was whom the poet had celebrated, yet whose actual
name he never mentioned.
t " The Virgil to which this note is appended is preserved in the Ambro-
sian library at Milan. In 1795, a part of the leaf on which it was written
became detached from the cover, and the librarians perceived other writing
beneath. Curiosity engaged them to take off the entire leaf, in which pro-
cess, the parchment being tightly glued, the writing, nearly effaced, re-
mained on the wood of the binding. They found beneath a note in the
handwriting of Petrarch, containing the dates of the loss he had once suf-
fered of the book itself, and its restitution. There is, in addition, a record
of the dates of the death of various of his friends, mingled with exclam-
ations of regret and sorrow, and complaints of the increasing solitude to
which he finds himself reduced through these reiterated bereavements." —
Ginguene.
PETRARCH. 97
instinct with the spirit of passionate melancholy, and,
at the same time, more beautiful, than the sonnets and J
canzoni which lament her loss. It was his only conso-
lation to recur to all the marks of affection he had ever
received from her, and to believe that she regarded him
with tender interest from her place of bliss in heaven.
He indulged, also, in another truly catholic mode of tes- -»
tifying his affection, by giving large sums in charity for
the sake of her soul, and causing so many masses to be ••«
said for the same purpose, that, as a priest who was his
contemporary, informed his congregation, in a sermon,
" they had been sufficient to withdraw her from the
hands of the devil, had she been the worst woman in
the world; while, on the contrary, her death was
holy."*
The death of Laura, overwhelming as it was, was but
a prelude to numerous others. Petrarch had lived J
among many dear friends ; but the plague appeared,
and their silent graves were soon all that remained to
him of them. Cardinal Colonna died in the course of •*
this same year. He was the last surviving son of the
hero Stefano, who lived to become childless in his old
age. Petrarch relates in a letter, that during his first
visit to Rome, he was walking one evening with Ste- *
fano in the wide street that led from the Colonna palace
to the Capitol, and they paused in an open place formed
by the meeting of several streets. They both leant their
elbows on an antique marble, and their conversation -
turned on the actual condition of the Colonna family :
after other observations that fell from Stefano, he turned *
to Petrarch with tears in his eyes, saying, " With re-
gard to the heir of my possessions, I desire and ought
to leave them to my sons ; but fate has ordered other-
wise. By a reversal of the order of nature, which I
deplore, it is I — decrepit old man as I am — who will
inherit from all my children." As he spoke, grief seized
upon his heart, and interrupted further speech. Now
• Tiraboscht.
VOL. I. H
98 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
this singular prophecy was fulfilled ; and Petrarch, in
his letter of condolence,, reminds the unhappy father of
this scene. The old man, however, survived but a few
months the last of his sons.
Petrarch, during the autumn, visited Giacomo da
Carrara, lord of Padua, who had often invited him with
a warmth and pertinacity, which he found it at length
impossible to resist. He passed many months in that
town, visiting occasionally Parma, Mantua, and Ferrara,
being much favoured and beloved by the various lords
1350. of these cities. On occasion of the jubilee, he went to
j£tat. Rome m pilgrimage, to avail himself of the religious
6> indulgences afforded on that occasion. On his way
through Florence, which he visited for the first time,
w he saw Boccaccio, with whom he had lately entered into
a correspondence. Continuing his journey, he met with
a serious injury from the kick of a horse on his knee,
on the road near Bolsena, which occasioned him great
pain, and on his arrival at Rome confined him to his bed
for some days. As soon as he was able to rise, he per-
formed his religious duties, and, with earnest prayers
J and good resolutions, dedicated his future life to the
practices of virtue and piety.
Returning from Rome, he passed through his native
•> town of Arezzo. The inhabitants received him with every
mark of honour : they showed him the house in which
he was born, which they had never permitted to be
pulled down nor altered, and attended on him during
his visit with zealous affection. On his arrival at
Padua he was afflicted by hearing of the death of his
friend and protector Giacomo da Carrara; who, but
a few days before,, had been assassinated by a relative.
The son of Giacomo succeeded to him, and though the
difference of age prevented the same intimacy of friend-
ship, the young lord loved and honoured Petrarch as
his father had done ; so that he continued to reside in
the city, over which the youth ruled. Sometimes he
-t visited Venice, to which beautiful and singular town he
was much attached. The doge, Andrea Bandolo, was
PETRARCH. 99
his friend ; and he exerted his influence to put an end
to the destructive war carried on between Venice and
Genoa, writing forcible and eloquent letters to the doge.
His endeavours were without success ; but the injuries J
which the republics mutually inflicted and received
might make them afterwards repent that they had riot -»
listened to the voice of the peace-maker.
Nor was the poet's heart wholly closed against the
feelings of love ; nor could the image of the dead Laura
possess all the empire which had been hers, cold and
reserved as she was, during her life. His sonnets give
evidence that passion had spread fresh nets to ensnare «*
him, when the new object of his admiration died, and
death quenched and scattered once again the fire which
he was unable to resist.* Again, he could think only
of Laura ; and, on the third anniversary of her death,
exclaimed, " How sweet it had been to die three years
ago!" It was on this anniversary that Boccaccio ar-
rived at Padua, bringing the decree of the Florentine
republic, which reinstated him in his paternal inherit-
ance, together with letters inviting him to accept of a J
professor's chair in their new university.
Such an employment scarcely suited one, who, for the
sake of freedom, had declined the highest honours of the
catholic church. Petrarch testified great gratitude for
the restitution of his property, but passed over their ^*
offered professorship in silence. Instead of repairing,
as he had been invited, to Florence, he set out to revisit
Avignon and Vaucluse. " I had resolved," he writes, 4
<( to return here no more ; but my desires overcame
my resolution, and, in justification of my inconstancy,
I have nothing to allege but the necessity I felt for
solitude. In my own country I am too well known,
too much courted, too greatly praised. I am sick of
adulation ; and that place becomes dear to me, where
Morte m' ha liberate un' altra volta,
E rotto '1 nodo, c'l toco ha spento, e sparse,
Contra la qual uon val Jbrza life 'njr<— vo."
Part II. Sj; nel III.
n 2
100 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN,
I can live to myself alone, abstracted from the crowd,
unannoyed by the voice of fame. Habit, which is a
second nature, has rendered Vaucluse my true country."
$ His son accompanied him on this occasion. The boy
was now fourteen years of age : he was quiet antl
docile ; but invincibly repugnant to learning, to the no
slight mortification of his father, who vainly tried, by
reprehension, raillery, and sarcasm, to awaken emulation
in his mind.
When Petrarch arrived at Avignon, Clement VI.
»• was very ill, and expected to die. He asked the poet's
opinion concerning his disorder ; and Petrarch wrote
him a letter to give him his advice with regard to the
-' choice of a physician, entreating him to adhere to one,
as affording a better prospect, where all was chance,
of having his malady understood. The learned body of
- medical men was highly offended by this letter : they
attacked the writer with acrimony ; and Petrarch re-
, plied in a style of vituperation, little accordant with his
usual mild manner. He was highly esteemed in the
papal court, and consulted by the four cardinals, de-
puted to reform the government of Rome ; and was
again solicited to accept the place of apostolic secretary,
which he again refused. " I am content," he said, in
reply to his friend the cardinal Talleirand : " I desire
nothing more. My health is good ; labour renders me
cheerful; I have every kind of book; and I have
friends, whom I consider the most precious blessing of
life, if they do not seek to deprive me of my liberty."
This letter was written from Vaucluse. Petrarch's.
j heart had opened to a thousand sad and tender emotions,
when he returned to the valley which had so frequently
heard his laments : his sonnets on his return to Pro-
vence breathe the softest spirit of sadness and devoted
> love. He gladly took refuge in his former home from
the vices and turbulence of Avignon. He renewed the
wandering lonely life he had lived twelve years before.
The old peasant still lived with his aged wife ; and the
poet amused himself with improvements in his garden,
PETRARCH.
101
which an inundation of the Sorgue overwhelmed and
destroyed.
On the death of Clement VI. he was succeeded by
Innocent VI. He was an ignorant man ; and, from J
Petrarch's perpetual study of Virgil (who was reputed
to be an adept in the art magic), he fancied that the
poet was a magician also, Petrarch was now most 1352.
anxious to return to Italy, yet still lingered at Vau- -33tat.
cluse. He made an excursion to visit the Carthusian 48*^
convent, where his brother Gerard had taken the vows.
Gerard had acted an admirable and heroic part during
the visitation of the plague, and survived the dangers to
which he fearlessly exposed himself. Petrarch was
received in his monastery with respect and affection ;
and, in compliance with the request of the monks, wrote •>
his treatise " On Solitary Life."
Winter advanced, and he was most anxious to cross
the Alps. He visited his old friend, the bishop of
Cavaillon, at Cabrieres, and was entreated by him to
remain ef one day more/' Petrarch consented with
reluctance ; and on that very night such storms came
on, as impeded his journey for several weeks. At 1353.
length he crossed the Alps, and arrived at Milan, on his Mtat.
way southward, not having determined in his own 49'
mind in what town he should fix his residence, waver-
ing between Parma, Padua, Verona, and Venice. While
in this state of indecision, the hospitable reception and
earnest invitation of Giovanni Visconti, lord and bishop
of Milan, induced him to remain in that city.
Louis of Bayiere, emperor of Germany, had been de- ^ ^
posed by pope John XXII., and each succeeding pontiff
confirmed the interdict. Clement VI. raised Charles, •*
the son of John of Luxembourg, king of Bohemia, to
the imperial throne, imposing on him, at the same time,
rigorous and disgraceful conditions with regard to his
rights over Italy, forcing him into an engagement never
to pass a single night at Rome, but enter it merely for
the ceremony of his coronation. Charles and his father
had visited Avignon in the year 134-6, to arrange the
H 3
102 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
stipulations.* Some time after, Petrarch wrote a long
-" and eloquent letter to the emperor, imploring him to
enter Italy, and to deliver it from the disasters that op-
pressed it. It is singular that two such lovers of their
country., as Dante and Petrarch, should both have in-
vited German emperors to take possession of it: but
the emperor was then the representative of the sove-
reigns of the Western empire, and they believed that,
crowned and reigning at Rome, that city would again
become the capital of the world^ and Germany sink into
a mere province. For though Petrarch earnestly implores
the emperor to enter Italy, various imprecations against
the Germans are scattered through his poems.
1354. Charles did not answer the poet's letter immediately,
-^tat-but he entertained a profound admiration for him; and
' when he entered Italy, being at Mantua, he sent one of
his esquires to Milan, to invite Petrarch to come to him.
The poet immediately obeyed, though frost and snow
rendered his journey slow and difficult. The emperor
received him with the greatest kindness and distinction.
Petrarch used the utmost freedom of speech in his ex-
hortations to the emperor to deliver Italy. He made
him a present of a collection of antique medals, among
•* which was an admirable one of Augustus, saying to
him, " These heroes ought to serve you as examples.
The medals are dear to me: I would not part with them
to any one but you. I know the lives and acts of the
great men whom they represent : this knowledge is not
enough for you ; you ought to imitate them."
Petrarch's admonitions were vain. After a progress
through Italy, and the ceremony of his coronation at
; Rome ; after having made a mere traffic of his power
and prerogatives, Charles hastened to repass the Alps,
* The Abb£ de Sade attributes to this prince the kiss bestowed on Laura
at a ball, by one of royal blood. The prince with his hand beckoned
aside every other elder of more noble lady, and kissed her on her brow and
eyelids. Petrarch, who was present, was filled at once with envy and tri,
umph (Sonnet coi.). If her beauty, and not the celebrity conferred on her
by the poet, was the occasion of this compliment, it is difficult not to be-
lieve that it was bestowed before she had lost the bloom of youth, especi.
ally as it is mentioned that the prince put aside all ladies older than herself
PETRARCH. 103
and returned to Germany, as a contemporary historian
observes, " with a full purse, but shorn of honour."
After the death of the bishop-lord Giovanni Vis- •*
conti, Petrarch continued to reside at Milan under the
protection of his nephew Galeazzo : he was sent by him 1355
at one time to Venice to negotiate a peace, and on an- ^Etat.
other to Prague, on an embassy to the emperor Charles. ol-
Afterwards he was sent to Paris to congratulate king .-
John on his return from his imprisonment in England:
he was shocked, in travelling through France, to find
that it had been laid waste by fire and sword. The in- i860,
vasion of the English had reduced the whole land to a
frightful state of solitude; the fields were desolate, and
no house was left standing, except such as were fortified.
Paris presented a yet more painful spectacle ; grass grew
in the deserted streets ; the sounds of gaiety and the si-
lence of learning were exchanged for the tumult of soldiery
and the fabrication of arms. Petrarch was well received,
especially by the dauphin, Charles, who cultivated let-
ters and loved literary men. Here, as in every other
court he visited, the poet was solicited to remain ; but
he found the barbarism of Paris little congenial to his
habits, and he hastened back to Italy.
When not employed on public affairs, Petrarch lived
<» a life of peace and retirement at Milan. In the summer,
he inhabited a country-house three miles from the city,
near the Garignano, to which he gave the name of Lin-
terno : when in the city, he dwelt in a sequestered
quarter near the church of St. Ambrose. " My life,"
he says in a letter to the friend of his childhood, Guido
Settimo, " has been uniform ever since age tamed the
fervour of youth, and extinguished that fatal passion
which so long tormented me ; and though I often
change place, my mode of spending my time is the
same in all. Remember my former occupations, and
you will know what my present ones are. It seems to
me that you ought not only to know my acts, but even
my dreams.
" Like a weary traveller, I quicken my steps as I
H 4
104 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
proceed. I read and write day and night, one occu-
pation relieving another. This is all my amusement
and employment : my eyes are worn out with reading,
my fingers weary with holding the pen. My health is
so good and rohust that I scarcely feel the advance of
years. My feelings are as warm as in my youllh, but I
control their vivacity, so that my repose is seldom dis-
turbed by them. One thing only is the source of dis-
quietude : I am esteemed more than I deserve, so that a
vast concourse of people come to see me. Not only am I
honoured and loved by the prince of this city and his
court, but the whole population pays me respect : yet,
living in a distant quarter of the city, the visits I re-
ceive are infrequent, and I am often left in solitude.
I am unchanged in my habits as to sleep and food. I
remain in bed only to sleep, for slumber appears to me
to resemble death, and my bed the grave, which renders
it hateful. The moment I awake I hurry to my library.
Solitude and quiet are dear to me; yet I appear talkative
to my friends, and make up for the silence of a year by
the conversation of a day. My income is increased, I
confess, but my expenditure increases with it. You
know me, and that I am never richer nor poorer : the
more I have, the less I desire, and abundance renders
me moderate : gold passes through my fingers, but never
sticks to them."
The literary work on which his busy leisure was
employed, was es De Remediis utriusque Fortunae,"
which he dedicated to Azzo di Coreggio. Azzo, who had
formerly protected him, had been driven into exile, and,
alternately a prisoner and an outcast, was reduced to a
state of the heaviest adversity. Petrarch never ceased
to treat him with respect; and for his comfort and con-
solation composed this treatise, of how to bring a remedy
to the evils consequent on both prosperous and adverse
fortune.
Honoured by all men, beloved by his friends, with
whom he kept up a constant and affectionate corre-
spondence, courted by monarchs, and refusing the offers
PETRARCH. 105
made him of the highest preferment in the church,
Petrarch spent his latter years in peace and independ- -*
ence. His chief source of care was derived from his son.
The youth was at first modest and docile, but his dis-
inclination to literature was so great, that he abhorred
the very sight of books. As he grew older he became
rebellious, and a separation ensued between him and his J
father, soon made up again on the submission of the
young man and his promises of amendment. The poet's
tranquillity was at last broken in upon by the wars of
the Visconti, and the plague, which again ravaged Italy.
It had spared Milan by a singular exemption in the
year 1348, but during its second visitation it was more
fatal to this city than to any other. Petrarch had to
mourn the loss of many friends ; and his son, who died -
at this time, was probably one of its victims. Petrarch
records his death in his Virgil, in these words : —
" He who was born for my trouble and sorrow, who
while he lived was the cause of heavy care, and who
dying, inflicted on me a painful wound, having enjoyed
but few happy days in the course of his life, died A. D.
I36l, at the age of twenty .five." *
These combined causes induced Petrarch to take up 1361
his abode at Padua, of whose cathedral he was a canon. ^Jta
During the remainder of his life he usually spent the
period of Lent there, and the summer at Pavia ; which,
belonging to Galeazzo Visconti, he visited as his guest. •*
A great portion of his time also was passed at Venice :
he had made the republic a present of his library, and
a palace was decreed to him for its reception, in which
he often resided. Andrea Dando was dead ; his heart had -
been broken by the reverses which the republic suffered
in its struggle with Genoa. Marino Faliero, who sue- *
ceeded to him, had already met his fate ; but the new
doge, Lorenzo Celsi, was Petrarch's warm friend.
During this year he gave his daughter Francesca,
who was scarcely twenty years of age, in marriage to
Francesco Brossano, a Milanese gentleman. She was
• Ugo Foscola
106 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
gentle and modest, attached to her duties, and averse to
the pleasures of general society: in person she resemhled
her father to a singular degree. Her husband had a
pleasing exterior ; his physiognomy was remarkahly
placid, his conversation was unassuming, and his man-
ners mild and obliging. Petrarch was much attached
to his son-in-law : the new married pair inhabited his
house at Venice, and the domestic union was never dis-
turbed to the end of his life.
One of his principal friends at this period was Boc-
caccio. Boccaccio, in the earnestness of his admiration
and the singleness of his heart, sent him a copy of
Dante, transcribed by his own hand, with a letter
inviting him to study a poet whose works he neglected
and depreciated. Petrarch, in answer, endeavoured to
exculpate himself from the charge of envying or despising
the father of Italian poetry. But his very excuses be-
tray a latent feeling of irritation ; and he asks, how he
could be supposed to envy a man whose highest flights
were in the vulgar tongue, while such of his own poems
as were composed in that language he regarded as mere
pastime. The poetry of Dante and Petrarch is essen-
tially different. There is more refinement in Petrarch,
and more elegance of versification, but scarcely more
grace of expression. The force, beauty, and truth, with
which Dante describes the objects of nature, and the
sympathetic feeling that vivifies his touches of human
passion, is of a different style from the outpouring of sen-
timent, and earnest dwelling on the writer's own emo-
tions, which form the soul of Petrarch's verses. The
characters of the poets were also in contrast.* Dante
was a proud, high-spirited, unyielding man : his haughty
soul bent itself to God and the sense of virtue only ; he
loved deeply, but it was as a poet and a boy ; and his
after-life, spent in adversity, is tinged only with sombre
colours. He possessed the essentials of a hero. Pe-
trarch was amiable and conciliating : he was incapable of
» Essays on Petrarch, by Ugo Foscolo.
PETRARCH. 107
venality or baseness ; on the contrary, his disposition was
frank, independent, and generous; but he was vain even to 4
weakness ; and there was a touch of almost feminine
softness in his nature, which was even accompanied by
physical timidity of temper. His ardent affections made
him,, to a degree, fear his friends ; he was versatile rather
than vigorous in his conceptions ; and it was easier for
him to plan new works, than to execute one begun, and
to persevere to the end.
He wrote for the learned in Latin ; he was averse to J
communicate with the ignorant in Italian verse, yet he
never made Laura the subject of poetry except in his
native tongue. Even to the last he wrote of her j and
one of his latest productions, chiefly in her honour,
were the " Triumphs." One of these, " The Triumph a
of Death," is among the most perfect and beautiful of
his productions. His description of Laura's death; the
assemblage of her friends who came to witness her last
moments, and asked what would become of them when
she was gone ; her own calmness and resignation ; her
life fading as a flame that consumes itself away, not
that is violently extinguished ; her countenance fair, not
pale ; her attitude, reposing like one fatigued, a sweet
sleep closing her beautiful eyes ; all is told with touch-
ing simplicity and grace. The second part relates the
imagined visit of her spirit to the pillow of her bereaved
lover on the night of her death. She approached him,
and, sighing, gave him her hand : delight sprung up in
his heart at taking the desired hand in his. " Recog-
nise her," she said, " who abstracted you from the
beaten path when your young heart first opened itself
to her." Then, with a thoughtful and composed mien,
she sat, and made him sit on a bank shaded by a laurel
and a beech. " How should I fail to know my sweet
deity!" replied the poet, weeping, and doubtful whether
he spoke to one alive or dead. She comforted and ex-
horted him to give up those mundane thoughts which
made death a pain. " To the good," she said, " death
is a delivery from a dark prison. I had approached
108 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
near the last moment ; the flesh was weak, but my
spirit ready, when I heard a low sad voice saying, ' O
miserable is he who counts the days; and one appears
to endure a thousand years — and who lives in vain — who
wanders over earth and sea, thinking only of her —
speaking only of her ! ' Then/' continues Laura, " I
turned my languid eyes, and saw the spirit who had im-
pelled me and checked you; I recognised her aspect ; for
in my younger days, when I was dearest to you, she made
life bitter, and death, which is seldom pleasant to mor-
tals, sweet ; so that at that sad moment I was happy,
except for the compassion I felt for you." — " Ah ! lady,"
•; said the poet, " tell me, I beseech you, did love never
inspire you with a wish to pity my sufferings, without
detracting from your own virtuous resolves ? For your
sweet anger and gentle indignation, and the soft peace
written in your eyes, held my soul in doubt for many
years." A smile brightened the lady's countenance as
she hastily replied, " My heart never was, nor can be,
divided from yours ; but I tempered your fire with my
coldness, for there was no other way of saving our
young names from slander, — nor is a mother less kind
because she is severe. Sometimes I said, ' He rather
burns than loves, and I must watch ;' but she watches
ill who fears or desires. You saw my outward mien, but
did not discern the inward thought. Often anger was
painted on my countenance, while love warmed my heart;
— but reason was never in me conquered by feeling.
Then, when I saw you subdued by grief, I turned my
eyes tenderly on you, and saved your life, and our ho-
nour. These were my arts, my deceits, my kind or
disdainful treatment; and thus, either sad or gay, I
have led you to the end, and rejoice, though weary." —
" Lady," replied the poet, " this were reward for all
my .devotion, could I believe you." — "Never will I say
whether you pleased my eyes in life," answered his visi-
tant; " but the chains which your heart wore pleased me,
as well as the name which, far and near, you have con-
ferred on me. Your love needed moderation only ; our
PETRARCH. 109
mutual affection might be equal; but you displayed yours,
I concealed mine. You were hoarse with demanding
pity, while I continued silent, — for shame or fear made
much suffering appear slight in my eyes. Grief is not
decreased by silence, nor is it augmented by complaints ;
yet every veil was riven when alone I listened to you
singing, ' Dir piu non osa il nostro amore.' My heart
was with you, while my eyes were bent to earth. But
you do not perceive," she continued, " how the hours
fly, and that dawn is, from her golden bed, bringing
back day to mortals. We must part — alas ! If you
would say more, speak briefly." — "I would know,
lady," said the poet, f< whether I shall soon follow you,
or tarry long behind." She, already moving away,
replied, " In my belief, you will remain on earth with,
out me many years."
Thus fondly, in age, and after the many years which
Laura had prophesied had gone over his head, Petrarch
dwelt on the slight variations and events that checkered
the history of his love. It may be remarked, also, that
he grew to hold in slight esteem his Latin poetry ; he
could never be prevailed upon to communicate his
" Africa," and begged that after his death it might be
destroyed.
To the last he interested himself deeply in the po-
litical state of his country. He exceedingly exulted
when, on the death of Innocent VI., pope Urban V.
removed his court to Rome. At the same time that he
refused the reiterated offer of the place of apostolic
secretary, he asked his friends to solicit church-pre-
ferment for him — he cared not what, so that it did
not demand the sacrifice of his liberty, nor include the
responsibility attendant on the care of souls. It would
seem that his income had become diminished at this
time, for he often said that it was not in old age that he
should seek to increase his means ; doubtless his ex-
penses increased on his daughter's account, and he had
given up several of his canonicates to his friends. He
was a generous man, and had many dependents always
110 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
about him ; so that it is no wonder that he wished not
r to find his capacity of benefiting others inconveniently
straitened.
1363. Boccaccio became warmly attached to Petrarch; at
-flstat. one tjme jje gpent the three summer months of June,
July, and August, with him at Venice, in company with
' a Greek named Leonzio Pilato — a singular man, of a
sombre, acid, and irritable disposition, but valuable to
the friends as an expounder of the Greek language.
Pilato left them to return to Constantinople ; but his
restless gloomy spirit quickly prompted him to wish to
•* revisit Italy. He wrote Petrarch a letter, (c as long
and dirty," says the poet, " as his own hair and beard.
This Greek," he continues, in a letter to Boccaccio,
" would be useful to us in our studies, were he not an
absolute savage ; but I will never invite him here again.
Let him go, if he will, with his mantle and ferocious
manners, and inhabit the labyrinth of Crete, in which
1365. he has already spent many years." This severity was
•^tat- tempered afterwards, when he heard of the death of
Pilato, who was struck by lightning during a storm on
board ship, while returning by sea to Italy. f< This
unhappy man," writes Petrarch, " died as he lived,
miserably. I do not think he ever enjoyed a tranquil
hour : I cannot imagine how the spirit of poetry con-
trived to enter his tempestuous soul."
1367. When Urban V. arrived at Rome, Petrarch wrote
•astat- him a long letter, expressive of the transport he felt on
this auspicious event. He praised his courage in having
vanquished every obstacle; adding, (( Permit me to
praise you ; I shall not be suspected of flattery, for I
ask nothing except your benediction." The pope re-
plied to this letter by an eulogium on its eloquence ;
declaring, at the same time, that he had the greatest
desire to see and be of service to him.
But old age had advanced on Petrarch. He had for
• several years suffered, each autumn, the attacks of a
1369. tertian fever, probably the effect of the climate of Lom-
•3£tat. bardy, where that malady is prevalent ; and this tended
65 ' rapidly to diminish his strength. When Urban V. wrote
PETRARCH. Ill
to him with his own hand to reproach him for not
having come to Rome, and urging his 'instant journey, <»
his letter found Petrarch at Padua, recovering slowly
from an attack of this kind. He was unable to mount
a horse, and was obliged to defer obeying the mandate.
Somewhat recovered during the following winter, he
prepared for his journey, making his will, which he April
wrote with his own hand. He then set out, hut got no ' 4-
further than Ferrara ; he there fell into a sort of swoon, ^
in which he continued for thirty hours without giving 66> '
any sign of life. The most violent remedies were ad-
ministered, and he felt them no more than a marble
statue. The report went abroad that he was dead, and
the city was filled with mourning and lamentation. As
soon as he was somewhat recovered, he would have •>
proceeded on his journey, notwithstanding the repre-
sentations of the physicians, who declared that he would
not arrive at Rome alive : but he was too weak to get
on horseback ; so he was carried back to Padua in a J
gondola, and was received, on his unexpected arrival,
with the liveliest demonstrations of joy, by Francesco
da Carrara, the lord of the town, and by its inhabitants.
For the sake of tranquillity, and to recover his health,
he sought a house in the country, and established him- •*
self at Arqua, a village situated north of Padua, among
the Euganean hills, not far from the ancient and pic-
turesque town of Este. The country around, presenting
the vast plains of Lombardy in prospect, and the dells
and acclivities of the hills in the immediate vicinity, is
charming beyond description. There is a luxuriance •*
of vegetation, a richness of produce, which belongs to
Italy, while the climate affords a perpetual spring. Pe-
trarch built a small but agreeable house at the end of
the village, surrounded by vineyards and gardens.
He busied himself in this retreat by finishing a work •»
begun three years before, which he had better have left
wholly undone. It was founded on a curious incident,
of which he has preserved the knowledge, and which
otherwise would have sunk into oblivion. There were
1.12 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
•' a set of young men at Venice, disciples of Aristotle, or
rather of his Arabian translator, Averroes, who set up
his philosophy as the law of the world, who despised
the Christian religion, and turned the apostles and
fathers of the church into ridicule : there was an open
war of opinion between these men and the pious Pe-
trarch. Four among them, in the presumption and
5 vivacity of youth, instituted a kind of mock tribunal, at
which they tried the merits of their amiable and learned
countryman ; and pronounced the sentence, that " Pe-
trarch was a good sort of a man, but exceedingly ig-
norant." He relates this incident in his treatise, " On
my own Ignorance and that of others," which he com-
mences by pretending to be satisfied with the decision.
" Be it so," he says, " I am content ; let my judges be
wise, while I am virtuous ! " and then he goes on to
prove the fallacy of their judgment by a great display
of erudition.
May He continued to get weaker, and his illnesses were
7* violent, though transient. On one occasion he was at.
•jpt t* tacked by a fever, and the physician sent to him by
67> ' Francesco da Carrara, declared that he could not survive
the night. The next morning he was found, apparently
well, risen from his bed and occupied by his books.
" This," he says, " has happened to me ten times in
•* the course of ten years." The vital powers were thus
exhausted, and it was not likely that he could live to
extreme age.
Pa- " You ask me how I am," he writes to a friend : " I
dua, am tranquil, and liberated from the passions of youth.
Jan. j erijoveti health for a long time — during the last two
1.T72 vears * am grown infirm. My life has been declared
/Etat to De m imminent danger, yet I am still alive. I am
68. 'at present at Padua, fulfilling my duties as canon. I
have quitted Venice, and rejoice to have done so, on
account of the war between the republic and the lord
j , of this city. In Venice I should have been suspected ;
here I am beloved. I pass a great part of my time in
the country, which I always prefer to town. I read,
PETRARCH. 113
I write, I think. I neither hate nor envy any man.
During the early season of youth, I despised every one
except myself — in maturer years I despised myself only
— in my old age I despise almost all — and myself more
than any. I fear only those whom I love, and my desires
are limited to the ending my life well. I try to avoid
tny numerous visiters, and have a small agreeable house
among the Euganean hills, where I hope to pass the
rest of my days in peace — with the absent or the dead,
perpetually in my thoughts. I have been invited by the
pope, the emperor, and the king of France, who have
often and earnestly solicited me to take up my abode
at their several courts ; but I have constantly refused,
preferring my liberty before all things."
It is a singular circumstance that one of the last acts
of Petrarch was, to read the " Decameron." Notwith- •>
standing his intimate friendship with the author during
twenty years, Boccaccio's modesty prevented his speak-
ing of the work, and it fell into Petrarch's hands by
chance. " I have not had time/' he writes to his friend, June
<f to read the whole, so that I am not a fair judge ; but 8.
it has pleased me exceedingly. Its great freedom is137^'
sufficiently excused by the age at which you wrote it, oaf*
the lightness of the subject, and of the readers for whom
it was destined. With many gay and laughable things,
are mingled many that are serious and pious. I have
read principally at the beginning and end. Your de-
scription of the state of our country during the plague, ,»
appears, to me very true and very pathetic. The tale
at the conclusion made so lively an impression on me.
that I committed it to memory, that 1 might sometimes
relate it to my friends."
This is the story of Griselda. Petrarch translated it ^
into Latin for the sake of those who did not understand
Italian, and often read it and had it read to him. He re-
lates, that frequently the friend who read it broke off, in-
terrupted by tears. Among others to whom he commu-
nicated this favourite tale was our English poet Chaucer, J
who in his prologue to the story of Griselda says that he
VOL. I. I
114" LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
" Learned it at Padowe of a worthy clerke,
Francia Petrarch."
Chaucer had been sent ambassador to Genoa just at this
time.
The letter to Boccaccio accompanying the Latin
a translation of the story was probably the last that Pe-
trarch ever wrote. The life of this great and good
man had nearly arrived at its conclusion. On the morn-
ing of the 19th of July, 1374,, he was found by his at-
J tendants in his library, his head resting on a book. As
he often passed whole hours and even days in this atti-
tude, it at first excited no peculiar attention ; but the
immovability of his posture at length grew alarming,
and on inspection it was found that he was no more.
The intelligence of his death spread through Arqua,
the Euganean hills, and Padua, and occasioned general
consternation : people flocked from far and near to attend
his funeral. Francesco da Carrara, with all the nobility
of the city of Padua, was present. The bishop, with the
chapter and clergy, performed the ceremony. The funeral
"* oration was pronounced by Bonaventura da Peraga, of the
order of the hermits of St. Augustin. The body was first
interred in a chapel of the church at Arqua, dedicated to
the Virgin, which Petrarch had himself built. A short
time after, his son-in-law, Francesco Brossano, erected
a marble monument opposite the church, and caused
the body to be transferred to it; inscribing on the tomb
four bad Latin verses, which it is said that Petrarch
himself composed, ordering that no epitaph of greater
pretension should record his death.
Petrarch directed in his will that none should weep
his death. (( Tears," he says, " are useless to the dead,
and they injure the living:" he requested only that alms
should be given to the poor, that they might pray for
his soul. He continues, " Let them do what they will
with my body; it imports nothing to me." He left Fran-
<* cesco Brossano his heir, and begs him, as his beloved
son, to divide the money he should find into two parts;
to keep one himself, and to give the other to the person
PETRARCH. 115
he has mentioned to him. This is said to mean his
daughter. He left several legacies to hospitals and re-
ligious houses. He bequeathed his good lute to Thomas
Barbari, wherewith to sing the praises of God ; and to
Boccaccio he left fifty golden florins, to buy a robe lined
with fur, for his winter studies ; apologising at the same
time for leaving so trifling a sum to so great a man.
This is a brief and imperfect sketch of Petrarch's life
— drawn from the ample materials which his Latin
prose works afford, and the careful researches of vari-
ous biographers, particularly of the Abbe de Sade, who
ascertained, by infinite labour and perseverance, several
doubtful facts concerning the persons with whom the
poet's life is chiefly connected. Much more might be
said of one whose history is pregnant with profound and
various interest. It will be enough if these pages con-
tain a faithful portrait, and impress the reader with a
just sense, of his honest worth, his admirable genius,
his high-toned feelings, and the many virtues that
adorned his long career.
i 2
116
BOCCACCIO.
THE family of Giovanni Boccaccio derived itself ori-
ginally from the Ardovini and Bertaldi, of the castle
of Certaldo, a fortress of Val d'Elsa, ten miles distant
•* from Florence. His progenitors migrated to that town,
and hecame citizens of the republic. His father's
name was Boccaccio di Chellino, derived from that
of his father Michele, diminished to Michellino or
Chellino; such, as in the Highlands of Scotland and
other places in the infancy of society, was the mode by
which the Italians formed their names ; with the ex-
ception of a few, who retained the appellation of some
illustrious ancestor. The son of Boccaccio was named
4 Giovanni, and he always designated himself at full
length, as Giovanni di Boccaccio da Certaldo.
Little is known of the early life of Boccaccio, except
the slender and vague details which he has interspersed
in his works. His father was a merchant ; he was a
man in good repute, and had filled several offices under
the Florentine government. His commercial specula-
tions caused him to make frequent journeys, and he
lived at one time for some years aj; Paris. Boccaccio
" was most probably born in that city. His mother was
a French girl of highly respectable family, though not
noble. It has been disputed whether in the sequel
Boccaccio di Chellino married her ; but it seems likely
that she died soon after the birth of her son, and never
• became his wife. It is certain that Giovanni was ille-
gitimate ; as he was obliged to obtain a bull to
legitimise himself, when late in life he entered the ec-
clesiastical profession.
13 1 3. Boccaccio was born in the year 131 3, and at the age of
seven accompanied his father to Florence. He tells us
BOCCACCIO. 117
of himself that he gave early tokens of his future in-
ventive and romantic talents. When seven years old a
desire of inventing fictions seized him, and he even x
then fabricated tales, childish and inartificial it is true,
though he had never heard any stories or fables, nor
frequented the society of literary men ; and though he
was scarcely acquainted with the first elements of
letters.* His father had, however, plans with regard
to him wholly at variance with these tastes. For a
short time he gave him Giovanni da Strada, father of
the poet Zenobio, for an instructor in the rudiments of
learning, and then placed him under the charge of a 1323.
merchant, from whom he was to learn arithmetic, and
to be initiated in other parts of knowledge appertaining
to commerce. In this way, to use his own words, he J
lost six valuable and irrecoverable years. Some friends
then assured his father that he was better fitted for
literature than trade, and his parent yielded so far to
these remonstrances, as to permit him to enter on the
study of the canonical law, placing him under a cele-
brated professor. It is very uncertain in what country 1329.
he resided during this time. He travelled a good deal,
and we have evidence of his visiting Ravenna, Naples, 1
and Paris, both while he was with his mercantile in-
structor, and afterwards. It has been conjectured that
at the former place he, as a child, knew Dante, who -
discovered and cherished his infant talents. But this
idea rests on a very slender foundation, arising from
Boccaccio speaking of him as his guide from whom he
derived all good; and Petrarch, alluding to him in a
letter to Boccaccio, as <( he who was in your youth the)
first leader, the first torch that led you to study."
Dante died in 1321, when Boccaccio was only eight years
old ; it seems probable, therefore, that Boccaccio looked
on Dante as his master and guide from the reasons that
made Dante give those names to Virgil ; and the works
of the Italian poet formed the torch that lighted his coun-
tryman in his search after knowledge. Another Discussion
* Genealogia Deorum.
i 3
118 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
has arisen concerning who his master of canonical law-
was; it is known that he passed much time in Paris, and
was familiar with the language, manners, and customs of
the French ; and as he was intimate with Dionisio Ro-
bertis, the friend of Petrarch, it is supposed that he
studied under him.* It is certain, from his own words,
that he was at that time at a distance from home, and
that his father, discontented with the career he was pur-
suing, vexed him with reproachful letters. It would
seem that Boccaccio di Chellino was a penurious and ill-
tempered man.
The project of making him a lawyer did not succeed
better than the former one. The imaginative youth was
disgusted with the hard dry study ; nor could the
counsels of his preceptor, nor the continual admonitions
of his parent, nor the reproaches of his friends, induce
him to pursue his new career with any industry. Dis-
pleased by the little progress he made, his father put an
end to the experiment, and bringing him back to his
j 333 commercial pursuits, sent him to Naples, ordering him
./Etat. there to remain ; or, as it would appear, from some
20. allusions in his works, recalled him to his home, which
was then in that city ; as at one time it is certain Boc-
-* caccio lived under the paternal roof at Naples ; and it
is also known that at a later period he continued there,
while his father lived at Florence.
Boccaccio describes himself as very happy at this
J time, associating on equal terms with the young nobles,
with whom he practised a system of great reserve,
fearing to have his independence infringed upon. But
} his society was courted, and his disposition and man-
ners were formed by a familiar intercourse with the
licentious but refined nobility of king Robert's court.
Yet he had better thoughts and more worthy talents
dormant in his heart, which only required a slight
spark to kindle into an inextinguishable flame. One
' day, by chance, he visited the tomb of Virgil. t The
tomb of the Mantuan poet is situated on the height
B. * Baldelli. . f Filippo Villani.
BOCCACCIO. 119
of Pausilippo : it consists of a small structure shaped
like a rude hut, but evidently of ancient date. It 1338.
is overgrown with rich vegetation ; the wild aloe and &***.
prickly pear issue from its clefts, and| ivy and other 2 "
parasites climb up its sides and cling thickly to its
summit. A dark rock rises immediately before ; it
is shut in, secluded and tranquil : but at the distance of
only a few yards, a short ascent leads to the top of the J
hill, where the whole of the bay of Naples opens itself
to the eye. The exceeding beauty of this scene fills
every gazer with delight ; the wide-spread sea is adorned
by various islands, and by picturesque promontories,
which shut in secluded bays ; the earth is varied by
hills, dells, and lakes, by towering heights and woody
ravines ; the sky, serenely though darkly blue, imparts
matchless hues to the elements beneath. Nature pre-
sents her most enchanting aspect ; and the voice of J
human genius breathing from the silent tomb, speaks of
the influence of the imagination of man, and of the
power which he possesses to communicate his ideas in all
their warmth and beauty to his fellow creatures. Such
is the tomb of Virgil now — such was it five hundred ->
years ago, when Boccaccio's heart glowed with new-born
enthusiasm as he gazed upon it. He remained long con-
templating the spot, and calling to mind with admiration
the fame of him whose ashes reposed in the structure
before him : then he began to lament his evil fortune,
which obliged him to give up his faculties to baser pur-
suits. Touched suddenly and deeply by an ardent
desire of cultivating poetry, he, on his return home, cast s
aside all thoughts of business, and eagerly gave himself
up to the Muses. And thus, at nearly mature age,
impelled by his own wishes only, excited and led by
none, his father averse, and always vituperating lite-
rature, he, untaught by any, applied to the culti-
vation of his understanding, devoting himself to the
study of such authors as he could comprehend, with the
greatest avidity and delight.* His genius and fervour
* Geneal. Deor.
I 4
120 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
conjoined to facilitate his progress ; and his father, be*
come aware of the inutility of opposition, at length
consented that he should follow his own inclinations,
and gave him the necessary assistance.
Another circumstance occurred not long after to con-
•i firm his predilection for literature, and to exalt it in his
eyes. He was present when Petrarch was examined
by Robert, king of Naples, previous to his coronation in
3341. the Capitol. King Robert was a philosopher, a phy-
lEtat. sician^ and an astrologer," but hitherto he had despised
' poetry, being only acquainted with some Sicilian rhymes,
and a few of the compositions of the Troubadours.
Petrarch, discovering the ignorance of his royal patron,
* took an opportunity, at the conclusion of his examin-
ation, to deliver an oration in praise of poetry, setting
forth its magical beauty and its beneficent influence over
the minds and manners of men ; and so exalted his
0 art, that the king said, in Boccaccio's hearing*, that he
had never before suspected that the foolish rind of verse
enclosed matter so lofty and sublime ; and declared
that now, in his old age, he would learn to appreciate
J and understand it, asking Petrarch, as an honour which
he coveted, to dedicate his poem of Africa to him.
From this time the lover of Laura became the Magnus
Apollo of the more youthful Boccaccio : he named him
his guide and preceptor, and became, in process of time,
his most intimate friend.
The liberal tastes and generous patronage of king
Robert drew to his court many of the most illus-
trious men of the age. Boccaccio was exceedingly de_-
J sirous, from boyhood, of seeing men celebrated for
learning t, and he cultivated a friendship with many of
those who lived at Naples. Under the Calabrian Bar-
laam he studied Greek. Barbato, the chancellor of the
king, J)ionisio Robertis, bishop of Monopoli, Paolo Peru-
gini, royal librarian, Giovanni Barrili, — these were all his
particular friends ; conversing with whom, he cultivated
* Geneal. Deor. f Ibid.
BOCCACCIO. 121
the literary tastes to which he entirely devoted him-
self.
An ardent love of poetry, and an assiduous cultivation
of his imagination,, made the study of his own nature
and its impulses a principal subject of contemplation ;
and thus softening his heart, opened an easy entrance
to the passion of love. He became attached to a lady
of high rank at Naples, whom he has celebrated in many
of his works.
He relates the commencement of this attachment in
various and contradictory ways ; on which account a
celebrated Italian critic has doubted whether the truth *
is contained in any of his narrations * ; it is more
credible that they are founded on fact. The object of
his passion, as is proved by a variety of circumstances,
and by his own express declaration t, was a natural
daughter of Robert king of Naples. To "prevent the
injury which would have accrued to her mother's name, ^
had her parentage been avowed, her royal father caused
her to be adopted by a noble of the house of Achino.
She was educated with extreme care, and married, when
very young, to a Neapolitan noble. They first saw April
each other at the church of San Lorenzo, on a dayvof 7-
high festival. She was in all the bloom of youth and lj^£'
beauty, dressed with splendour, and surrounded by all 28 '
that rank and prosperity can impart of brilliancy. The
passion was sudden and mutual. J
But it is in vain that he endeavours to engage our ^
sympathy. In spite of all the interest which he tries
to throw over their attachment, it bears the appearance
of a mere intrigue. The lady Mary was a wife, and,
in all probability, a mother. Her lover makes her
relate, in one of his works §, that she was married to
* Tiraboschi. f Filocopo.
t This lady Mary cannot be the princess Mary, an acknowledged na-
tural daughter of king Robert The latter was beheaded during the trou-
bles at Naples, a year after Boccaccio's death. The poems of Boccaccio
declare that he outlived his lady Mary, Fiammetta, as hecalled her, many
years ; and his writings give proof that her royal and illegitimate origin,
was always preserved a secret
} La Fiammetta.
122 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
a noble of equal age; that until she saw Boccaccio,
they were happy in each other; her husband adoring
her, and she affectionately attached to him. A pas-
* sion which could disturb such an union appears a
phrensy as well as a crime. That the lovers suf-
fered great misery, may serve as a warning, as well as
an example, of how such attachments, from their very
nature, from the separations, suspicions, and violations
of delicacy and truth entailed upon them, must, under
the most favourable auspices, be fruitful of solicitude
J and wretchedness. An adherence to truth is the no-
blest attribute of human nature. The perpetual infringe-
ment which results from a secret intrigue degrades in
their own eyes those who practise the falsehood. In
; the details which Boccaccio has given of his passion,
we perceive the violation of the most beautiful of
social ties ; while deceit is substituted for sincerity,
and mystery for frankness. The lover perceived a
perpetual lie on the lips of her he loved ; and, had his
attachment been of an ennobling nature, he would rather
have given up its gratification, than have sought it in the
humiliation and error of its object.
The lady Mary was eminently beautiful. Her hair,
J of the palest gold, shaded a forehead remarkable for its
ample proportion ; her brows were black and delicately
marked ; her eyes bright and expressive ; her beautiful
mouth was terminated by a small, round, and dimpled
chin; her complexion was brilliant, her person well
formed and elegant. She excelled in the dance and
song, and, above all, in the vivacious, airy spirit of
conversation. Her disposition was generous and mag-
j nificent. Boccaccio himself was handsome: his good
looks were too early injured by plumpness ; but, at this
time, being only twenty-eight years of age, he was in
the pride of life. His eyes were full of vivacity ; his
features regular ; he was peculiarly agreeable and lively
in society ; his manners were polite and noble ; he was
proud, taking his origin from a republic where equality
of rank prevailed ; but, frequenting the society of the
BOCCACCIO. 123
Neapolitan nobility, he preserved a dignified inde-
pendence and courteous reserve, which commanded re-
spect.
Hitherto Boccaccio had heen collecting materials, by
study, for future composition ; but he had written
nothing. According to his own declaration, his mind
had become sluggish and debased through frivolity and
indolence, when his love for the lady Mary awoke him
to exertion*, and incited him to pursue that career
which has caused his name to be numbered among the
illustrious writers of his country. His first work,
written at the request of his fair mistress, in the early
days of their passion, was the ' ' Filocopo." The found-
ation of this tale resembles St. John's tales — those of
te The Seven Wise Masters," &c., which were adopted
from Arabia, and coloured, in their details, by descrip-
tions of Eastern manners, with which the conquest
of Granada by the Moors, and the expeditions of the
crusaders, varied the rude chivalry of the North. A
Roman noble and his wife make a pilgrimage to
Spain. The husband dies fighting against the Maho-
metan Felix, king of Marmorina. His wife fell into
the hands of the victor, and died at the court of Felix,
on giving birth to her daughter Biancafiore, on the
very day on which Florio, the son of Felix, was born.
The children were educated together. The parentage
of Biancafiore was unknown, her parents having died
without declaring their names and descent from the
Scipios and Csesars ; but, despite her obscure origin,
Florio becomes enamoured of his lovely companion ;
and his father, enraged by this ill-assorted attachment,
separates them ; and, after cruelly persecuting the un-
fortunate girl, at last sells her to a merchant, who takes
her to Alexandria, where she is bought by a noble, who
shuts her up in a tower. Florio wanders into various
countries to seek her; they go through a variety of
disasters, which end in their happy marriage ; and,
the birth of Biancafiore being discovered, they are con-
* Rime.
124 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
, verted to the Christian faith. The story is long drawn
out and very unreadable ; though interspersed by traits
of genius peculiar to Boccaccio, natural touches of
genuine feeling, and charming descriptions. Florio,
during his erratic travels in search of Biancafiore,
arrives at Naples : the author introduces him into the
company of his lady and himself, under the names of
Fiammetta and Caleone.
Having once engaged in writing, Boccaccio became
very diligent : his next work was a poem, entitled the
1 " Teseide," or the " Thesiad." The subject is familiar
to the English reader, as the "Knight's Tale" in Chaucer,
modernised by Dry den, under the title of (t Palamon
i and Arcite." Boccaccio was, if not the inventor of the
ottava rima, or octave stanza (some Sicilian and French
poets are supposed to have preceded him in the use of
it), yet the first to render it familiar to the Italians.
It has been duly appreciated by them, and used, as pe-
culiarly adapted to narrative poetry. The ease with
which the Italian language lends itself to rhythm and to
rhyme, enabled Boccaccio to dress his thoughts in the
* guise of poetry ; but he was, essentially, not a poet. It
were too long to enter here into the distinction between
the power of the imagination which creates fable and
character, and even produces ideal imagery, and the
peculiar attributes of poetry, which consists in a greater
• force and concentration of language, and an ear for the
framing poetic numbers. The sublimity, yet delicacy,
of Dante, the grace and harmony of Petrarch, are quite
unapproached by Boccaccio : nor, indeed, can he com-
pete with even the second and third rate of Italian
J poets. His style is diffuse and incult, and altogether
wanting in the higher graces of poetic diction. Still,
•'' there is nature, pathos, and beauty in the narration.
The story of the " Thesiad," if unborrowed, — and there
is no previous trace of it, — is worthy of the author of
the ' ' Decameron : " it is full of passion and variety.
He had the merit, also, of discarding the machinery of
dreams and visions, then so much in vogue among his
BOCCACCIO. 125
countrymen, which took from their compositions all
reality and truth of feeling — giving us empty per-
sonifications, instead of fellow-creatures, formed of flesh
and blood.
Boccaccio had not long enjoyed the favour of his 1342.
lady, when he was obliged to return to Florence. His ^Etat
father had lost his wife and children, and recalled his
son, to be the companion of his declining years. He
separated himself from the lady Mary with infinite
regret ; a feeling which she so fully shared, that he
afterwards wrote a work, entitled " La Fiammetta," in
which she, as the narratress, gives the history of their J
attachment, and complains bitterly of the misery they
suffered during their separation. There is less of re-
dundancy, and more unaffected nature in this work than
in his former ; and the commencement calls up forcibly J
the author of the ' ' Decameron," from the vividness and
strength of the language. In one respect, his visit to
Florence, at this time, was evidently beneficial : it fami- ^
liarised him with the pure and elegant language of
Tuscany : he does not allude to it ; but the barbarous
dialect of Naples must have injured his style ; and we
cannot doubt that he recognised at once, and adopted,
the expressive idiom of his native town. The " De-
cameron " is a model of the Tuscan dialect, if such 4
a name can be given to a tongue differing from the
Italian spoken in every other portion of the peninsula,
and infinitely superior to all in grace, energy, and con-
ciseness.
He found his home, with his father, sufficiently dis- A
agreeable. * The house was gloomy and silent ; nor
was the sound of gaiety ever heard within its walls. His
father was far advanced in years, and had grown, if he
had not always been, avaricious and discourteous, dis-
contented and reproachful; so that the necessity of seeing
him every day, of each evening returning to his melan-
choly abode, cast a shadow over Boccaccio's life. e ' Ah ! "
* Ameto.
126 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
he exclaims, " how happy are the independent, who
possess themselves in freedom ! " To add to his dissatis-
faction, Florence was suffering under the oppression of
•J Walter de Brienne, duke of Athens ; whom the people
had, in a moment of despondency, set over themselves,
and who proved a cruel and gloomy tyrant ; till, un-
ahle to endure any longer his sanguinary despotism, the
citizens rose against him, and regained their liberty.
Boccaccio's chief amusement was derived from his
pen. He wrote the " Ameto," a composition of min_
J gled prose and verse, the first of a kind, since adopted
by Sannazaro and sir Philip Sidney. The " Ameto"
is a story somewhat resembling "Cymon and Iphi-
genia," in which he again introduces himself and his
lady, as he informs the reader, bidding those attend
who have a clear understanding, and they will find a
hidden truth disclosed in his verses. But a more
agreeable change was at hand, to relieve him from his
•* painful position. His father married again, and he was
permitted to return to Naples.
1344. He found great alterations in this city. King Robert
JEtat was dead. His daughter Jane succeeded to him : her
' dissentions with her husband produced a violent party
spirit among the courtiers, while the pursuit of pleasure
was the order of the day. A Court of Love, in imit-
J ation of those held in Provence, was instituted, over
which the lady Mary presided. The lovers continued
fondly attached to each other, though jealousies and
trifling quarrels somewhat diversified the otherwise
even course of their loves. The lady passed several
J months each summer at Baiae, amidst a society given
up to amusement, and to the indulgence of the greatest
libertinism. From some unknown cause, Boccaccio
did not accompany her on these occasions, and he was
tormented by a thousand doubts, fearing that the dis-
•> solute manners of the court would corrupt her, whom
he calls a mirror of chaste love, and injure her faith
towards him. During one of these absences he
wrote Iiis poem of " Filostrato," on the subject of
BOCCACCIO. 127
Troilus and Cressida, which he dedicated as a kind of
peace-offering to his lady. He wrote also the " Amorosa
Fiammetta," which is her fancied complaint, while he was
at Florence, and the " Amorosa Visione," or Vision of
Love ; which is more poetic in its diction than any of
his previous works in verse, though it labours under the
disadvantage of being an acrostic ; the initial letters of
each verse forming a series of sonnets and canzoni, ad-
dressed in the same initials to tc Madonna Maria."
During the period when the plague desolated the 1348.
world, Boccaccio occupied himself by writing the &***.
" Decameron," to amuse, it is said, queen Jane and her 85*
court. He gives a somewhat different account in the J
preface. He tells us in it : " From my youth until the
present time, I have been inflamed by an aspiring love
for one more noble perhaps than befitted my obscure
birth ; for which passion I was praised even by the more
discreet among those who knew of it, and held in high
repute ; and yet it was the cause to me of much trouble
and suffering, — not certainly through the cruelty of the
lady I loved, but from the pain I endured when separ-
ated from her. During which time I enjoyed so much
relief from the agreeable conversation and kind conso-
lations of a friend, that I truly believe, that but for
them I had died.. But it has pleased him, who
decreed that all earthly things should have an end, that
my attachment, which no fear, shame, nor advice could
lessen, has by course of time so abated, that, while I
still love, I am no longer the victim of uncontrollable
passion. Yet I still remember the benefits I formerly
received from those who sympathised in my pains ; and
I propose to myself, as a mark of gratitude to them, to
afford to others, labouring as I once did, the same relief
which was before bestowed upon me. And who will
deny that this book belongs rather to women than men.
Fearfully and with shame they conceal within their ten-
der hearts that flame which is fiercer when hidden ; and
who, besides this, are so restrained from the enjoyment
of pleasure by the will of those around them, that they
128 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
most frequently struggle with their feelings, and revolve
divers thoughts, which cannot he all gay, within the
little circuit of their chamber, which must occasion heavy
grief and melancholy, if unrelieved by conversation. All
which things do not happen to men ; who, if afflicted,
2an frequent society — hunt, shoot, ride, and play — and
have a thousand modes of amusing themselves. And,
therefore, to counterbalance the unequal award of fortune,
who gives most to bear to those who are weakest, I in-
tend to relate, for the amusement and refuge of gentle
ladies who love, one hundred stories, fables, parables, or
histories, or whatever you please to call them, narrated,
during the course of ten days, by seven ladies and
three cavaliers, who assembled together at a villa during
the late pestilence."
His description of the plague in Florence, in the in-
troduction, is the finest piece of writing that Boccaccio
ever composed : it presents a pathetic, eloquent, and
vivid picture of the sufferings induced by that remorse-
less malady. It is a curious fact, that there is every
proof that Boccaccio was residing at Naples during the
visitation of the plague in 1348 ; but it required no vio-
lent effort of the imagination to paint the disasters of his
native city, as Naples itself presented a similar tragedy:
nor is there any thing in the description that stamps it
as peculiarly belonging to Florence.
The seven young ladies of the tales meet on a Wed-
nesday morning in the church of Santa Maria Novella,
and there agree to leave the miserable city, and to be-
take themselves, with three gentlemen from among their
friends, to one of the villas in the environs, and, shutting
out all sight and memory of the frightful disasters they
had witnessed, to strive, in the enjoyment of innocent
pleasures, to escape from danger. — ee Nor," the lady
says, who proposed this nlan, "can we be said to aban-
don any one, for it is we who are abandoned ; and
remember, that our innocent flight is less blamable than
the guilty remaining of others."
The Italians have taken great pains to discover the
BOCCACCIO. 129
exact spots to which the company of the Decameron *
retreated. They are found not far from Florence.* The
father of Boccaccio possessed a small villa in the village
of Majano, and his son pleased himself by describing
the adjacent country ; and in particular, the pleasant
uplands and fertile valleys of the hills around Fiesole,
which are in the neighbourhood. It is said that Villa
Gherardi was the first place to which the ladies betook J
themselves ; and Villa Palmieri is recognised in the
description of the sumptuous abode to which they after-
wards removed, to escape being disturbed by visiters.
In the exquisite description of the narrow valley
to which Eliza conducts her companions, and where <
they bathe, we discern the little plain surrounded by
hills, through which the Affrico flows ; when, after
having divided two hills, and descended from the rocky
heights, it collects itself into a gentle stream, under the
Claustro della Doccia of Fiesole.
The assembly being gathered together in this delight-
ful spot, among other modes of amusing themselves,
they agree that each one should narrate a tale every J
day; and during the ten days which form the (f Decame-
ron," a hundred tales are thus related. They give some
kind of rule to their amusement, by fixing on a subject
for each tale ; as for instance, on one day each person f,
is to tell a story in which, after much suffering, the
disasters of the hero or heroine come to a happy con-
clusion. In another, the tale is to end unhappily. The 2
stories vary from gay to pathetic, and in the last, Boc-
caccio is inimitable in delicacy and tenderness of feeling.
All the other works of Boccaccio would have fallen ^
into oblivion, had he not written the " Decameron :" they
are scarcely read, even though bearing his name ; they
are heavy and uninteresting ; his poetry is not poetry ;
his prose is long-winded ; but the " Decameron ;" bears
the undoubted stamp of genius. His language is a " well •*
of Tuscan undefiled," whence, as from its purest source,
* BaldellL
VOL. I. K
130 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
all future writers have drawn the rules and examples
•which form the correct and elegant Italian style. It
possesses, to an extraordinary degree, the charm of elo-
quence. It imports little whence he drew the ground-
« work of his tales ; yet, as far as we know, many of them
are original, and the stories of Griselda and Cymon, of
the pot of Bazil, and the sorrows of Ghismonda, are
unborrowed from any other writer. The tenderness,
the passion, the enthusiasm, the pathos, and ahove all,
the heartfelt nature of his best tales, raise him to the
highest rank of writers of any age or country. His
^ defects were of the age. Boccaccio's mind was tar-
nisKed by the profligacy of the court of Naples. He
mirrors the licentious manners of the people about him
in his " Decameron :" it were better for human nature,
that neither the reality nor the reflection had ever existed.
The faults of the book rendered it obnoxious, especially
- to the priests, whom he, in common with all the novel-
ists of his time, treats with galling ridicule. Salvano-
* rola preached against it, and so excited the minds of
his fellow citizens, that they brought all their copies of
the " Decameron," as well as of, it may be remarked,
the blameless poetry of Petrarch and Dante, into the
Piazza de' Signori on the last day of the carnival of
1497* and made a bonfire of them: on which account
the earlier editions of these books are very rare. After
•> Salvanorola, it continued on the list of prohibited books.
This occasioned emended editions to be published, —
some of which were so altered as scarcely to retain any
thing of the original. It was after many years and
with great industry, that the " Decameron" was re-
stored. The* first entire edition was published through
•* the care of a society of young Florentines, who were
ashamed of the disgraceful condition to which this cele-
brated work was reduced: this was published in 1527,
and goes by the name of the " Ventisettana," or twenty-
seventh, and of the ' ' Delphin." After this, however, only
mutilated editions were printed, and even now, as it
still continues a prohibited book, any perfect edition
BOCCACCIO. 131
bears on the title-page the name of some protestant town,
London or Amsterdam, as the place where it is printed.
To return to the author. During the year of the 1350.
jubilee Boccaccio returned to Florence, and the lady -3£tat.
Mary was spoken of no more, except in a sonnet, written
many years after, on the death of Petrarch, which al-
ludes to her death. He addresses his lost friend as having
entered that heavenly kingdom after which he had long
aspired, that he might again see Laura, and where
his beautiful Fiammetta sat with her before God. Whe-
ther the lady died, therefore, before or after his removal
to Florence cannot be told ; we have his own authority
for knowing, that by this time his ardent passion was -»
subdued into calm affection. His father as well as his
mother-in-law was dead, and they had left a young son j
Jacopo, to whom Boccaccio became guardian. His pecu-
niary resources had been derived through his father from
Florence, and it became necessary to take his place in
that city. From this time he continued to reside in
Tuscany, and to fulfil the duties of a citizen. One of
the occurrences that marked his return, was a visit from -
Petrarch, who passed through Florence on his return
from his pilgrimage to Rome, on occasion of the jubilee.
They were already in correspondence ; and Boccaccio
had seen the poet in his glory nine years before at Na-
ples. But now they met for the first time as friends, J
and that intimacy commenced which lasted till the end
of their lives.
Boccaccio, on returning to his native city, entered on a
busier scene of life from that which he led among the Nea-
politan nobles. He was sent almost immediately on vari-
ous embassies to the Ordelaffi, to Malalesta, and to Po- •/
lenta, lords of various towns of Romagna, for the purpose
of engaging them in a league against the Visconti, who,
being lords of the powerful city of Milan, and having
lately acquired the signorship of Bologna, were desirous
of extending their princely dominions beyond the Apen-
nines.
He had soon after the happiness of being the bearer
K 2
132 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
1351. to Petrarch of the decree of the republic of Florence,
JEtat. which restored his patrimony, and the letters which
38' invited him to fill a professor's chair in their new uni-
versity. During this visit they cemented their friend-
ship. Petrarch was then residing at Padua, and his
friend remained some weeks in his house. Boccaccio
-J read or copied Petrarch's works, while the other pursued
his ordinary studies ; and in the evening they sat in
the poet's garden, which was adorned with the flowers
and verdure of spring, and spent hours in delightful
conversation. Their hearts were laid bare to each
•» other, they sympathised in their taste for ancient learn-
ing, in their love for their country, and in the views
they entertained for the welfare of Italy.* Boccaccio
brought back to Florence Petrarch's expressed intention
to visit his native city. But other feelings interposed
— probably the poet was averse to mingle too nearly
with the violent factions that agitated the republic. He
-> soon after made a journey to Vaucluse, and never again
entered Tuscany.
Boccaccio was more of a citizen than his friend,
and he fulfilled several offices intrusted to him by
the government. Florence was at that time a little
empire in itself, agitated by tumults, divided by intestine
quarrels, and disturbed by wars with the neighbouring
J states. Scarce a day passed without an event. The
citizens were full of energy and fire ; volatile and rash,
sometimes they acted a cowardly, sometimes a magnani-
mous part. They were restless and versatile — but am-
bitious, and full of that quick intuitive genius which,
even now, in their fallen state, belongs to them. They
were at enmity with the Visconti, who incited against
them the hostility of the great company, a band of
mercenary troops, the off-pourings of the invasion of
France by the English, which had entered Italy, and
sold their services to different standards, or made war
on their own account for booty only. The peasants of
* Petrarch's Letters.
BOCCACCIO.
the Florentine territory had gone out valiantly against
them, and afterwards, assisted by the whole forces of the
state, they attacked and destroyed these pernicious ban- J
dits. Still the Visconti continued powerful and im-
placable enemies. Boccaccio was sent to Bohemia to 1353.
invite Louis of Bavaria, Marquis of Brandenburgh, ^tat-
to come to the assistance of Florence and its league.
At another time he was despatched to Avignon, on 1354.
occasion of the entrance of the emperor Charles into ^tot
Italy, to discover the intentions of the pope with regard
to this monarch.
These political negotiations could not be carried on
by Boccaccio without inspiring him with violent party
feelings : he hated the Visconti as tyrants, and as dis- •*
turbers of the peace of Italy. He heard with pain and
indignation that Petrarch had taken up his abode at J
Milan, under the protection of its archbishop and lord,
Giovanni Visconti. He wrote to his friend to express .
his regret and disapprobation. " I would be silent," he *
wrote, " but I cannot ; reverence restrains, but indig-
nation impels me to speak. How has Petrarch forgotten
his dignity, the conversations which we have held to-
gether concerning the state of Italy, his hatred of the
archbishop, his love of solitude and independence, so
far as to imprison himself at the court of Milan ? As
easily could I believe that the wolf fled the lamb, and
the tiger became the prey of the fawn, as that Petrarch
should act against the dictates of his conscience; and that
he who called the Visconti a Polyphemus, and a mon-
ster of pride, cruelty, and despotism, should place himself
under his yoke. How could Visconti win that which
no pontiff, which neither Robert of Naples nor the em-
peror could obtain ? Have you done this because the
citizens of your native town have treated you with con-
tempt, and taken back the patrimony which they at one
time restored?"*
* This singular circumstance is not noticed by Petrarch in any of his
letters. Did the Florentines act thus to punish him for his journey to
Avignon, at the time they had invited him to take up his abode among
K 3
134> LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Petrarch's answer was moderate ; his habits were
peaceful and recluse, and he preferred trusting an abso-
lute prince who was attached to him, with his safety,
to confiding to the caprice of a mob. Personal inter-
course also had shown him that the man whom he had
denounced so bitterly from political animosity, was
worthy of private friendship : he was unwilling to enter
the very focus of dissention, such as Florence then was,
and he sacrificed his public hatred to the gentler feelings
of personal friendship and gratitude. " It is not likely,"
he says in his answer, " that I should learn servitude
in my old age ; but if I become dependent, is it not
better to submit to one, than, like you, to a whole people
of tyrants? " Petrarch was a patriot in an elevated sense
of the word : he exerted himself to civilise his country,
and to spread abroad the blessings of knowledge ; peace
was his perpetual cry; but in the various tyrannies that
distracted Italy, he saw the same ambition under dif-
ferent forms ; and taking no part with one against the
other, but with the general good against them all, he
held himself free to select his friends as sympathy and
kindness dictated.
Boccaccio continued to correct and add to his Deca-
meron, which it is conjectured was published at this
time. It spread rapidly through Italy ; its popularity
astounded even the author, and must have gratified
him, though aware of its errors, and tendency to injure
the principles of social life. This sentiment increased
in after-times, so that he reproached his friend Mainardo
de' Cavalcanti, a Florentine by birth, but living at the
court of the queen of Naples, for having promised his
wife and other ladies of his house that they should read
the Decameron. He entreats him to revoke this promise
for his own sake, and theirs, that their minds might not
be contaminated by narrations in which delicacy and
even decency were forgotten ; " and if not for their
them? Yet, on another occasion, the citizens petitioned the pope to give
the poet a benefice within their walls, and so induce him to inhabit their
city. Perhaps the expression used in Boccaccio's letter is ironical.
BOCCACCIO. 135
sake," he continues, " for the sake of my honour. They
will, on reading it, think me the most wicked and licen-
tious of men ; for who will be near to allege in my
excuse that I wrote it while young, and urged to the
work by commands not to be disobeyed ? "
Worse for the fame of Boccaccio than the blots that
slur the beauty of the Decameron, is a work, which it
is to be lamented fell from his pen. This was entitled
the <f Corbaccio." He fell in love with a beautiful and •*
noble widow of Florence, who treated him with scorn
and derision, and he revenged himself by this pro-
duction, in which he vilifies the whole sex in general,
and this lady in particular, in a style that prevents any
one of the present day from attempting to read it.
While we lament such gross ill taste, it is agreeable <
to forget it, and to record and remember the vast bene-
fits which Boccaccio bestowed on mankind, through his
ardent and disinterested love of letters, and especially his
extraordinary efforts to create and diffuse a knowledge
of the Greek language and writers. In this labour he
far excelled Petrarch, who possessed a Homer, but was
unable to read it.
He proved his enthusiasm in the most undeniable
manner. ( He was born poor, even to privation ; yet he
spent large sums of money in the acquisition of ancient -
manuscripts : he transcribed many with his own hand.
His labours in this way were immense : many volumes
of the poets, orators, and historians, were copied by him :
among these are mentioned the whole of the works of
Tacitus and Livy, Terence and Boetius, with various
treatises of Cicero and Varro, besides many of the pro-
ductions of the fathers. He made journeys in search of
manuscripts, and records one anecdote, which shows
how often disappointment must have attended his la-
bours. He visited the celebrated convent of Monte
Cassino, under the idea that he might find some ancient
manuscripts, hitherto unknown. He asked for the library,
and was taken up a ladder into a loft, exposed to the wea-
, K 4
136 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
ther, where the books were lying on the floor moth-eaten,
and covered with damp mould. While he indignantly re-
garded the materials of learning which lay desolate before
him, he was told, to add to his horror, that the monks
were in the habit of effacing the writing from their
venerable parchments, and of replacing it by scraps from
the ritual, for which they found a ready sale among the
neighbouring villagers.
Nor was his enthusiasm, like Petrarch's, confined to
the ancients. He could not only feel and appreciate
the genius of Dante, but exerted himself to inspire
others with the admiration with which he was filled.
He awoke the Florentines to a just sense of the merits
J of this sublime poet, and persuaded them to erect a
professorship in their university for the explanation of
the Divina Commedia. He himself first filled the chair,
and wrote a commentary on several of the books, be-
sides a Life of Dante. This has been usually considered
unau then tic, but it is difficult to see on what grounds
this judgment rests. He takes the account of Dante's
love of Beatrice from his own work of the Vita Nuova ;
and in all other particulars of his life the information
-i he gives is slight ; but, as far as we are enabled to form
an opinion, correct. His genuine enthusiasm for the
beauties of his favourite author led him to regret that
4 Petrarch did not sufficiently admire him. He copied
for his use the whole of his poem with care and ele-
gance, and sent it to the laureate, with a poetic epistle,
in which he besought him to bestow more attention and
admiration on their illustrious countryman. Petrarch
^ was bigoted to the notion that any thing written in the
vulgar tongue was beneath the regard of a learned man ;
and received his present with a coldness that penetrates
through his assumed praises. This celebrated manu-
script belongs to the Vatican library. The epistle men-
tioned is addressed " To Francis Petrarch, illustrious and
only poet," and is subscribed " thy Giovanni da Cer-
taldo." The manuscript is illuminated, and the arms
of Petrarch, consisting of a gold bar in an azure field.
BOCCACCIO. 137
with a star, adorns the head of each canto. There are
a few notes of emendation, and the whole is written in
a clear and beautiful hand. By a strange oversight, no
care has been taken to collate any modern edition of '
Dante with this celebrated copy.
Boccaccio's endeavours to promote the study of
Greek were still more eminent and singular. At a time J
when~literature was just struggling into notice, it was not
strange that a foreign tongue should be entirely forgot-
ten. The knowledge of Greek had been slightly spread ~>
during the crusades, when the inhabitants of the West
frequently visited Constantinople ; and afterwards the
commercial relations of Venice and Genoa prevented it
from being wholly extinguished. But the language
thus brought into use was merely colloquial, and was to *
a great degree superseded by the Lingua Franca. Pe-
trarch had read a few of the dialogues of Plato with
bishop Barlaam, but his knowledge was very slight.
To Boccaccio the praise is due of unwearied and sue- •*
cessful labour in the cause of Hellenic literature. He
had studied, while at Naples, under Barlaam and Paolo
Perugino ; but his chief efforts had their date from the
period of his establishing himself at Florence. Poor as
he was, he spared no expense in collecting manuscripts,
so that it is suspected that all the Greek books possessed J
by the Tuscans, and all the knowledge of them diffused
through Europe, before the taking of Constantinople,
which was extensive, at least in Italy, was derived from
the labours, and procured at the expense, of Boccaccio.
When he visited Petrarch at Milan, the laureate men-
tioned to him incidentally, one Leonzio Pilato, a Cala-
brian, who, having spent almost all his life in Greece,
called himself a native of that country. This man pos-
sessed a perfect knowledge of the language : Petrarch J
had met him at Verona, and they read a few passages of
Homer together. Boccaccio saw in this a favourable
opportunity for facilitating his laudable attempt to
make the Greek language a part of the liberal education
of his countrymen. Pilato was at Venice : Boccaccio
138 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
obtained a decree from the Florentine government for
the erection of a Greek professorship in their university,
carried it to Venice, and persuaded Pilato to accept the
office,, and to return with him to Florence, where he
lodged him at his own house.* They laboured together
•> to make a Latin translation of Homer, which Boccaccio
transcribed with his own hand. The total want of
lexicons and grammars rendered the undertaking incon-
ceivably arduous j and not least among the difficulties
with which Boccaccio had to struggle was the violent,
untameable, and morose disposition of ^his guest. This
was the man whojrf Petrarch supposed could never have
smiled, and whose manners were so savage, that he
declared that not even his love of Greek could induce
him to invite him a second time to his house. His
aspect was repulsive, his habits disgusting, his conver-
sation gloomy and unsocial. He was proud and violent,
and, detesting the Italians, made no secret of his
abhorrence ; and, discontented with himself and others,
he was always wishing himself elsewhere than where he
was. Yet the courteous and amiable Boccaccio, who
was accustomed to the refinement of a court, and who
loved the elegance and gaiety of society, kept him under
his roof for three years, humouring his whims, and
studying in his company.
j Meanwhile his moral habits underwent a beneficial
change, owing to the admonitions and example of
J359. Petrarch. He visited this excellent man at Milan, and
^Et*t- spent several weeks in an intimate intercourse, which
' was of the greatest service to him to the end of
his days. Petrarch, whose soul was purified by the
struggles of his passion for a noble-minded woman,
taught him that learning was of small avail to its pos-
sessor, unless combined with moral principle and vir-
tuous habits. These conversations awoke in Boccaccio's
mind a desire to vanquish his passions. He saw and
loved the example of delicacy and honour set him by
* Guignenfe.
BOCCACCIO. 139
his friend ; and although he could not all at once suc-
ceed in imitating him, he became aware of what his
duties were : his cojiscience awoke, and a love of right J
was engendered, which enabled him, in process of time,
to triumph over the habits and vices by which he had
hitherto been enslaved.
A singular circumstance achieved the work begun by
his inestimable friend. Boccaccio's vivacious and sen-
sitive mind could with difficulty be brought to act from
the mere influence of reason. But the change which a
love of moral truth and the dictates of good taste were
inefficacious to operate, was brought about by the agency «*
of superstition and fear.
One day a Carthusian monk arrived at Certaldo, and 1361
demanded an interview with Boccaccio, who received ^tat
him with kindness, and listened to him with attention.
The monk first related, that there had lately lived in his
convent at Siena a brother named Pietro Petroni, a *
man of singular piety, who was accustomed to pray with
extreme fervour for the conversion of the wicked. On
his death-bed he had called his companion, Giovacchino
Ciani, to his bedside, and gave him various messages, '
to be delivered to a number of persons, to the pur-
port that they should change their lives, and study how
to be saved. As soon as the monk was dead, Ciani de- *
parted to fulfil his commission, and in the first place
came to Certaldo. He then made an exposition of
Boccaccio's errors, and above all of the wide-spreading
evils occasioned by his writings, and which were a
snare and a temptation to the young, imploring him
to turn his talents, which he had hitherto exerted in
the service of the spirit of evil, to the glory of God
and the saints ; telling him that he had been incited
by a vain glory, which made him rather seek the ap-
plause of the world than the favour of his Creator;
and what reward could he expect, except eternal punish-
ment hereafter ? " I do not spare your ears," con- •>
tinued the zealous Ciani, (< and am the less scrupu-
lous, because Petroni speaks through me, who is now
140 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
looking down from heaven upon us. Therefore, in the
words of that blessed man, I exhort, entreat, and com-
mand you to change your sinful course of life, to cast
aside your poetical studies, and to become a disciple and
inculcator of divine truth. If you refuse to obey my
voice, I predict, in his name, a miserable end to your
depravity, and a speedier death than you anticipate ;
so that your profane studies and life shall at once be
brought to an end ; " and to add the force of super-
natural revelation to his words, he communicated to
Boccaccio several events of his life, which he presumed
to be only known to himself, but which had been reveal-
ed to the monk by Petroni ; and then he took his leave,
saying, that he was about to fulfil a similar mission to
several others, and that among them he should visit
Petrarch.
Boccaccio was _aghast. Superstitious fear shook his
soul ; Tie gave credulous ear to what he was told, and
resolved to give himself up to sacred studies and peni-
tence. His first impulse was to sell his library and to
abandon poetry altogether: meanwhile he communicated
the visit he had received, and the effect that it had on
him, to his dear friend and monitor, Petrarch.
Petrarch had subjected himself, during all his life,
to moral discipline ; he was a self-seeker and a self-
reprover. He was not so easily shaken from the calm
tenor of his piety and faith by prognostics and denun-
ciations ; he replied to his friend in a letter full of good
sense and kind feeling. In those days a letter was a
treatise ; ancient history was ransacked, and the whole
learning of the writer poured out in a/ torrent. But
there are passages which deserve to be quoted. " False-
hood and imposture," he wrote, " often disguise them-
selves in the habit of religion ; out I will not pronounce
any . decided opinion till I have seen the messenger.
The age of the man, his countenance, eyes, manners,
gestures, his voice and words, and, above all, the sum
and purport of what he says, will serve to enlighten me.
It is announced to you that you have but a short
BOCCACCIO. 141
time to live, and that you must renounce poetry and
profane literature. These words at first filled me with
consternation and grief. How could I anticipate your
death without tears ? But, on further reflection, I am
led to consider that you look with terror and regret on
what ought really to be a matter of rejoicing, for thus
you are detached from the world, and brought, as we
all ought, to meditate upon death, and to aspire to that
height where no worldly temptation intrudes to con-
taminate the soul. You will learn from these admo-
nitions to control your passions, and to reform your
habits of life. But I exhort you not to abandon books
and learning, which nauseate and injure the weak only,
but which invigorate and comfort the strong-minded."
After placing these considerations in various and
strong lights, Petrarch concludes by saying, " If you
continue to adhere to your purpose, and determine not
only to relinquish study, but to cast aside the instru-
ments of learning, I shall be delighted to possess your
books ; and I would rather buy them, than that the li-
brary of so great a man should be scattered abroad in the
world.* I cannot name a price, not knowing their value
nor number. Think of these things, and reflect whether
you cannot, as I have long wished, pass the remainder
of your days with me. As to your debt to me, I do not
know of it, nor understand this foolish scruple of con-
science. You owe me nothing except love ; nor that,
since each day you pay me : except, indeed, that, re-
ceiving continually from me, you still continue to owe.
You complain of poverty. I will not bring forward the
usual consolations, nor allege the examples of illustrious
men, for you know them already. I applaud you for
having preferred poverty, combined with independence,
» It is not creditable to the learning of those times to learn, that the li-
braries of these two great revivers of knowledge were lost to the world
soon after their deaths. Boccaccio's, it is true, was destroyed by an acci.
dent, being burnt when the convent to which he had left it was consumed
by fire. But Petrarch's mouldered away in the palace given by the repub-
lic of Venice for its reception and preservation, so that dusty fragments
were afterwards found to be all that remained of the venerable parchments
which the laureate had expended so much time and labour in collecting.
142 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
to the riches and slavery that were offered you; but I do
not praise you for refusing the solicitations of a friend. I
am not able to enrich you ; if I were I should use
neither words nor pen, but speak to you in deeds. But
what is sufficient for one is enough for two ; one house
may surely suffice for those who have but one heart.
Your disinclination to come injures me, and it is more
injurious if you doubt my sincerity."
Boccaccio was convinced by his friend, and the ex-
* _cess of his penitence and zeal died away; but the refpjm.
of his moral character was permanent. He adopted the
clerical dress, and endeavoured to suppress those writ-
ings which scandalised the pious.
He was very poor : his patrimony was slender, and
•J shared with his brother Jacopo, and diminished also by
various expenses incurred in his zeal to procure books
and advance learning. He had passed a life of freedom,
however, and shrunk from servitude. The passage in
Petrarch's letter which refers to this, concerns his hav-
ing refused the honourable and lucrative, but onerous
post, of apostolic secretary ; nor was he tempted by
Petrarch's invitation, being unwilling to burthen one
whose means were very limited. He, however, fell into
a most painful mistake when he accepted the offer of a
wealthy patron, which originated pride, and not affection.
The seneschal Acciajuplo was a Florentine, settled at
Naples ; he had long been the counsellor and friend of
Louis, prince of Tarento, second husband of queen
Jane. He had accompanied him in his flight to France,
and stood by him during his adversity. When the
affairs of Naples were settled, and Jane and Louis re-
stored to the throne, Acciajuolo became the first man in
the kingdom : he was made seneschal ; but his power and
influence were limited by no mere place. He had pre-
tensions to learning, and was the friend and correspond-
1363. ent of Petrarch : he was proud and arrogant, and wished
J&ta*- to be esteemed a munificent man. He invited Boc-
' caccio to come and take up his abode in his palace at
Naples, and to employ himself in writing a history of
BOCCACCIO. 143
the seneschal's life. Boccaccio was seduced, by a belief
in the reality of his friendship and the nobleness of his
generosity, to accept his offer. He was received by the '
great man with apparent pleasure, and with many pro-
mises of future benefit ; but he was undeceived as to
the kindness of his welcome, when he was led to the w
chamber destined for his accommodation. The seneschal
lived in a magnificent palace, adorned with all the lux-
uries known in those days : the room assigned to
Boccaccio was mean and squalid ; it contained one dirty, ••
ill-furnished bed, for himself and his brother Jacopo,
and he was placed at the same table with the stable •>
boys and the lower servants of the house, together with
a whole host of needy hangers-on. Boccaccio's neces-
sities were not so great as to force him to endure this J
unworthy treatment, and his spirit revolted against it.
He removed at once to the house of his friend, Mai- *
nardo de' Cavalcanti, by whom he was cordially and
honourably received ; and rinding, on a second trial, to
which he was urged by the servile advice of some
friends, that Acciajuolo was wholly ignorant of the
duties of hospitality, and totally deficient in generosity
and delicacy, he left Naples and proceeded to Venice.
He here passed three happy months with Petrarch. J
The Greek, Leonzio Pilato, joined them. Their society
consisted of either learned men, or the Venetian no-
bility ; and the friends reaped great enjoyment from the
intimacy and unreserve of their intercourse. After the
lapse of three months Boccaccio returned to Florence, ^
though the plague was raging there, and Petrarch en-
tertained a thousand fears on his account.
An abode in Florence was nevertheless ill suited to
the new course of life which he proposed to himself.
The city was perpetually disturbed by domestic strife, J
or the treachery of the foreign princes, whom they
called in to their assistance in time of war. Boccaccio
retreated from this scene of discord, and took up his
abode at the castle of Certaldo, where he gave himself
entirely up to study : his house there is still to be seen.
144? LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Certaldo is situated on a hill, and looks down on the
fertile valley watered by the river Elsa.* The country
around is picturesque, adorned hy various castles and
rustic villages. The culture of corn, vines, and olives,
adorns the depth of the valley and the uplands; and three
successive harvests are brought in by the husbandman.
Here Boccaccio composed most of his later works, and
the influence of Petrarch is perceptible in his choice of
subjects and language. This is to be greatly lamented,
since his desertion of Italian was founded upon a mistake,
which has given us, instead of works of imagination and
genius, heavy treatises and inaccurate histories. Boc-
caccio's Latin is bald and tame ; he knew nothing of
the structure, and was unable to clothe his thoughts
with the eloquence natural to him : he rattled the dry
bones of the skeleton of a dead language, instead of
making use of the young and vigorous tongue to which
he had given birth.
His first work, under this new direction, was one of
great labour and erudition for those times, and was en-
tered upon at the suggestion of Ugo IV., king of Cyprus
and Jerusalem. It treats of the genealogy of the gods,
and relates the connection between the various deities of
the beautiful Greek mythology. For many years it
continued to be a standard book, whence the Italians
drew all their knowledge of the subject ; and it was
doubtless a useful production. In pursuance of his
plan of being the schoolmaster of his age, and intro-
ducing his countrymen to the knowledge of forgotten
lore, he afterwards composed a dictionary of ancient
rivers, mountains, and forests. His active mind was
always finding new subjects for his pen. He discovered
that the female sex possessed no historian, and he dedi-
cated himself to their service by writing the lives of il-
lustrious women. In this he describes the ideal of a
virtuous matron, and goes to the extreme usual to a re-
formed libertine. Her conduct must not only be strictly
* Baldelli
BOCCACCIO. 145
correct, but she must not even look about her ; she
must speak little, eat little, and avoid singing and
dancing. Given up to domestic cares, she must be simple J
in her dress, and even love her husband moderately.
He wrote after this a work entitled, " De Casibus Vi-
rorum et Fseminarum Illustrium," in which he records
the disasters and adversity which history relates to have
befallen royal or noble personages. Thus his time was
entirely spent among his books, and he acquired a re- J
putation for learning and purity of life, which raised
him high in the opinion of his fellow citizens.
He was, in consequence,, appointed, on two occasions,
ambassador to pope Urban V. In fulfilment of the first 1355
mission, he went to Avignon, where he was honourably ^Etat
received, especially by Philip de Cabassolles, the intimate 52'
and beloved friend of Petrarch. On his return, he was
very desirous of passing from Genoa to Pavia, to see the J
laureate ; but the duties of his embassy forbade. To
indemnify himself, he projected a visit to him at Venice.
There is a Latin letter of his extant, which gives an
interesting account of this latter journey : it is addressed
to Petrarch, whom he missed, as he was again gone J
to Pavia. Boccaccio did not hear of this circumstance
till he reached Bologna ; and it almost made him give
up his journey. " On my road," he writes, " I en-
countered Francesco (the son-in-law of Petrarch^, to
my great delight. After a glad and friendly meeting,
I began to observe the person of this man. His placid -•
countenance, measured language, and mild manners
pleased me : I praised your choice, as I praise all you
do." On his arrival at Venice, " I received," he Says,
" many invitations, and accepted that of Francesco
Allegri. I would not avail myself of your kind offer,
and take up my abode under your daughter's roof,
during the absence of her husband. I should have
preferred going to an inn to being the cause of the
scandal that might have arisen, despite my grey hairs
and fat unwieldy figure.
" I went, however, to see Francesca ; who, when she
VOL. I. L
146 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
heard of my arrival, came to meet me with gladness, as
if you yourself had returned : yet, when she saw me,
she was abashed, blushed, and cast down her eyes;
and then, after a timid welcome, she embraced me Avith
filial and modest affection. After conversing together
some little time, we went into your garden, and found
several of your friends assembled. Here, in explicit
and kind terms, she offered me your house, your
books, and every thing belonging to you, in a matronly
and becoming manner. While we were conversing,
your beloved little granddaughter came up : she looked
smilingly at me, and I took her with delight in my
arms. At first, methought I saw my own child * : her
face resembles hers — the same smile, the same laughing
eyes ; the gestures, gait, and carriage of her person,
though a little taller — for mine was only five years and a
half old when I last saw her — were all similar : if their
dialect had been the same, their expressions would have
resembled in their simplicity. I saw no difference, ex-
cept that yours has golden hair, and that of mine
was black. Alas ! while caressing and charmed by her
talk, the recollection of my loss drew tears from my eyes;
so that I turned my face away, to conceal my emotion. -j
" I cannot tell you all that Francesco said and did
upon his return ; his frequent visits when he found
that I would not remove to his house ; and how hos-
pitably he entertained me. One incident will suffice :
knowing that I was poor, which I never denied, on my
departure from Venice, at a late hour, he withdrew with
me into another part of his house ; and, after taking
leave, he stretched out his long arms, and, putting a
purse into my hands, made his escape, before I could
expostulate with or thank him."
After having been gratified by these tokens of real
friendship, Boccaccio suffered one of those mortifying
disappointments which too often occur to those who are
* It is unknown who was the mother of this child, or grandchild, who
died so young. Boccaccio had, besides, one son established at Florence,
whom he does not mention in his will, but who presided at his funeral,
and erected a tomb over his remains.
BOCCACCIO. 147
ready to trust to the good-will and offers of assistance of
men who call themselves their friends. Niccolo di Monte- ^
falcone, abbot of the celebrated Carthusian monastery of
San Stefano in Calabria, invited him to take up his abode
with him, describing the agreeable situation of his house,
its select library, and the leisure to be enjoyed there.
Boccaccio accepted the invitation, and made the journey. 1370.
He arrived late at night before the gates of the secluded "Etat
monastery ; but, instead of the welcome he expected,
he found that the abbot had left the convent hastily, in J
the middle of the night, on purpose to avoid him.
Boccaccio, justly indignant, wrote an angry letter, and,
leaving the inhospitable retreat, repaired to Naples,
where he was again cordially received by his friend J
Mainardo de' Cavalcanti.
During his visit to Naples, Boccaccio received many
offers of hospitality and patronage : among others, queen
Jane of Naples, and Giacomo king of Majorca, en- j
deavoured to persuade him to enter into their service ;
but Boccaccio was naturally proud and independent :
he had been duped by an appearance of friendship, but
recoiled from a state of servitude : he preferred his quiet -
home at Certaldo to the favours of the great; nor
could the renewed solicitations of Petrarch induce him
to change his mind; and he returned to Tuscany.
When he visited Naples again, it was merely for the 1372.
sake of seeing his friends, without any ulterior view, -^tat.
and he quickly returned to the quiet of Certaldo, 59"
where he busied himself in the publication of his work 1373.
of the " Genealogy of the Gods."
Age and infirmity advanced on him before their
time : he was attacked by; a painful and disagreeable
disease, which rendered life a burthen to hifn. He lost
his strength, and the powers of his understanding;
his limbs became heavy, and the light of heaven in-
tolerable; his memory was impaired, and his books
no longer afforded him any pleasure. His thoughts
were fixed upon the tomb, towards whkh he believed
himself to be rapidly approaching. After having con-
L 2
148 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
tinned in this state for several months, he was one day
seized with a violent fever, which increased towards
night. His disturbed thoughts turned towards the past:
his life appeared to him to have been wasted, and
fruitful only of remorse. No friend was near him:
his sole attendant was an old nurse, who, unable to
penetrate the cause of his disquietude, annoyed him by
her meaningless and vulgar consolations. His fever
increased; he believed himself to be dying, and he
feared to die. His courage, which had until now sus-
tained, all at once deserted him. Hitherto he had
avoided physicians, having no faith in the art : he was
now driven to send for one, whose remedies afforded
him relief, and restored him to some portion of health.*
The energy of his mind returned with his bodily
strength. He had laboured long to induce the Florentine
government to bestow some honourable testimonial on the
memory of the illustrious Dante. At length, a decree was
promulgated, instituting a professorship for the public
explanation of the "DivinaCommedia," so to promote, as
it was expressed, the advancement of learning and virtue
among the living and their posterity. The professorship
was bestowed upon Boccaccio : he received a salary of
one hundred florins a year, and delivered his lectures in
the church of San Stefano. The result was his com-
mentary on the first seventeen cantos of the " Inferno,"
written in a clear, simple, and elegant style, full of ex-
cellent criticism and valuable illustrations.
Thus the remnants of his failing strength were spent
upon doing honour to the memory of the celebrated
poet, whose genius he so warmly and generously ad-
mired, and a depreciation of whom is the sole blot on
the otherwise faultless character of Petrarch : but,
while he roused his intellects to understand and com-
ment upon the delicate and sublime beauties of Dante,
his physical strength decayed, and his sensibility received
a severe shock from the death of his beloved friend
» Baldelli, Cod. San. Epist. L
BOCCACCIO. 1 4$
Petrarch. He heard it first by public report ; and 1 374.
it was afterwards confirmed to him in a letter from ^tat-
Francesco Brossano, the laureate's son-in-law, who 61>
transmitted to him the legacy of fifty florins, for the
purchase of a fur dress for his winter studies. Boc-
caccio wrote, in return, a letter full of grief and ad- ^
miration. " He did not mourn," he said, (e for the
dead, who was receiving the reward of his virtues, but
for those who survived him, and were abandoned to the
tempestuous sea of life without a pilot." He ivould
have visited his tomb had his health permitted ; and he J
besought Brossano to take care of his posthumous re-
putation, and to publish his poem of " Africa," which
was only known to the world in fragments. In com-
pliance with his request, Brossano had the poem copied,
and sent it to him ; but he did not live to receive it.
He felt his end approaching, and Petrarch's death
loosened his last tie to earth. He made his will, and named •»
the sons of his brother Jacopo his heirs. He left legacies
to those to whom he owed return for friendship and
services ; and he concluded, by leaving his library, in
the first instance, to his spiritual director, Martino da
Signa, to go, after his death, to the convent of the «•
Spirito Santo, at Florence, for the benefit of the
studious.
He survived Petrarch one year only, and died at •»
Certaldo, on the 2 1 st December, 1375, in the 63d year
of his age. His death was occasioned by a malady
of small moment in itself, but fatal in his debilitated
state, and aggravated by his continual application. He
was buried at Certaldo, in the church of SS. Jacopo
and Filippo. His son presided at his funeral, and erected
a tomb, on which was inscribed a Latin epitaph, com-
posed by Boccaccio himself, in which he mentions that
honourable love of literature which characterised him
through life: — " Patria Certaldum; studiumfuit alma
poesis" He was lamented throughout Italy ; but his
loss was chiefly deplored in his native city, as, during
his residence there, he had redeemed his early follies
L 3
150 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
by a course of life devoted to the cultivation of liter-
ature and religion, and the duties of a citizen. While
all read with delight the purer productions of his ima-
ginative genius, the learned of every age must feel
grateful to his unwearied labours in the preservation of
the ancient manuscripts, many of which, but for him,, had
been lost for ever to the world.
151
LORENZO DE' MEDICI
(CONSIDERED AS A POET) ;
FICINO, PICO BELLA MIRANDOLA, POLI- '
TIAN, THE PULCI, ETC.
AFTER the deaths of Petrarch and Boccaccio, the
cause of learning was, to a certain degree, lost. The
study of Greek and the search for manuscripts was dis-
continued. The first person who brought that language
again into notice, was Emanuel Chrysoloras, a noble
Greek, who was frequently sent into Italy on embassies
by the emperor of Constantinople, and employed his lei-
sure in teaching his native tongue in Florence. His
disciples were numerous : among these, Poggio Brac-
ciolini was the most distinguished. He discovered and
collected a vast number of the most valuable manu-
scripts. Besides the philosophic and beautiful poem of
Lucretius, we owe to him the complete copies of-Quin-
tilian, Plautus, Statius, Silius Italicus, Columella, and
many others. Several of these exist only from the copy
found by him, and were thus rescued from certain de-
struction. " I did not find them in libraries," he
says, " which their dignity demanded, but in a dark
and obscure dungeon at the bottom of a tower, in which
they were leading the life of the damned. Filelfo was
also an ardent collector. The discussions between the
Roman and Greek churches brought several Greek scho-
lars and philosophers into Italy, and through them the
Platonic doctrines were known to the Italians. Gemis- 1433.
thus Pletho, who had been master of Chrysoloras, but
who survived him many years, was their chief promul-
gator. They were in opposition to the Aristotelian phi-
losophy, which had so long been the only one taught
L 4
152 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
in the schools of Italy ; but their glowing beauty and
imagination were adapted to enchant all who heard
them. Cosmo de' Medici became their convert, and
resolved to establish an academy at Florence for their
study and propagation. He caused Marsiglio Ficino,
the son of his favourite physician, to be educated for
this purpose by the teachers of Platonic philosophy.
1453. Cosmo was also the founder of the Medicean library.
The taking of Constantinople by the Turks aided the
advancement of learning ; and while Cosmo protected
, many learned Greeks who took refuge at Florence, they
spread refinement and knowledge throughout the penin-
sula.
1464. Cosmo died soon after ; and as his son Piero did not
long survive him,, Lorenzo succeeded to his wealth and
political influence. Lorenzo had been brought up with
solicitous attention. He was fortunate in his mother,
Madonna Lucretia, a lady of considerable talents and
accomplishments, a lover of learning, and patroness of
learned men. He was first the pupil of Gentile d' Ur-
bino, bishop of Arezzo ; and afterwards of Christofero
Landirio ; and a warm attachment subsisted between
master and pupil. He soon gave manifestations of
the magnificence of his disposition; and his love of
poetry developed itself at an early age. After the
death of Cosmo, and his father Piero, however, his life
was no longer one of studious leisure or youthful en-
joyment; but visited by many disastrous occurrences.
1478. The conspiracy of the Pazzi was directed against his
life and that of his brother. Giuliano was its vic-
tim ; while he with difficulty escaped from the poniard
of the assassin. He was scarcely free from these do-
mestic dangers, when he encountered greater foreign
ones, from the implacable enmity of Sixtus VI. This
pope leagued almost all Italy against Florence, de-
claring at the same time that Lorenzo was the object
of their attack ; and that if he were sacrificed, Florence
should obtain peace. Lorenzo maintained the weight of
1479. this coalition with firmness and dignity. With heroic
LORENZO DE* MEDICI. 153
gallantry he took the whole responsibility on his own
person, and threw himself into the hands of the king
of Naples. His firmness and talents enabled him to ^
induce this monarch to conclude a treaty beneficial and 1480.
honourable to Florence, and his authority in the re-
public was thus confirmed greater than ever. From
this time he occupied himself by establishing an en-
during peace] in Italy ; not pursuing his object by
pusillanimous concessions, but by an unremitted at-
tention to the course of events, and sound policy in
preserving the balance of power among the Italian
states.
From the anxieties and cares attendant on his public
life, he was glad to find relaxation in the cultivation of
poetry and the pursuits of philosophy. He loved liter-
ature and the fine arts, and devoted much of his time
and fortune to their cultivation. He encouraged Greek
learning, and was an enthusiastic Platonist. His chief
friends were literary men — Politian, Marsiglio Ficino, J
and the three brothers of the name of Pulci. He busied
himself in raising and giving reputation to the univer-
sity of Pisa. He instituted a yearly celebration of the
anniversary of Plato's birth and death, and was the
cause that his refined philosophy became the fashion in
Italy. All the learned wrote and spoke Plato ; and in
Florence in particular, classic learning was an indis-
pensable qualification in a well-educated man.
One of the chief merits of Lorenzo is derived from ^
the revival of his nativelanguage. '"A century had elapsed
since the golden age of Petrarch and Boccaccio, but the
Italian language, instead of redeeming the promise of
its birth, had remained mute and inglorious. The ne-
glect which so speedily darkened the native literature,
may be attributed to these very men, and especially to
Petrarch, who cast disgrace over what he called the
vulgar tongue, and taught that Latin was the only
worthy medium by which learned men should commu-
nicate their ideas — and such Latin! However, the spirit
of improvement, which is the most valuable attribute of
154 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
human nature, led the students who succeeded him to
cultivate and understand the implement he placed in
their hands. They applied themselves to a critical ex-
amination of Latin ; and after all, it is perhaps, to the
bald, unformed Latinity of Petrarch, that we owe the
knowledge which the scholar of the present day pos-
sesses of the construction and delicacies of that lan-
guage. If he had not taught the world, that the object
chiefly worthy of their ambition was to imitate the
works of Virgil and Cicero, no one had spent the labour
necessary to the entire understanding of the language of
the Romans.
Yet, while this advantage was derived from his
mistake, imagination and genius were silenced ; little
prose and no poetry, either in Latin or the vulgar
tongue, appeared in Italy. The writers educated by
Cosmo, Politian, and Ficino, still adhered to the here-
ditary error, and wrote in Latin. Lorenzo first broke
through these rules, and expressed in his native lan-
guage the fragile and delicate ideas inspired by a poetic
imagination. He ranks high as a poet : he does not
possess the sublimity and grace of Dante, nor the ele-
gance, tenderness, and incomparable sweetness of Pe-
trarch ; but his merits are original and conspicuous :
simplicity and vivacity adorn his verses. His love
poems are full of fire, and come from the heart ; his
descriptions are delightful, from their truth, elegance,
and flow of fancy throughout ; his diction is that of a
genuine poet.
It is singular, that although Lorenzo possessed the
germ of real poetry in his mind, he began to work him-
self up to writing verses in a manner that appears cold
to our northern imaginations : he resolved to love, and
resolved to write verses on her he loved ; yet, being a
poet, and a man whose heart easily opened itself to the
warmer affections, no doubt a great deal of real feeling
accompanied his aspirations. He himself gives the
account of all these circumstances in a commentary
written on his first sonnets.
LORENZO DE* MEDICI. 155
His brother Guiliano had been deeply attached to a
lovely girl named Simonetta, who died in the bloom of
beauty : it is supposed, that he alludes to her when he
describes the excitement caused by the public funeral
of a beautiful young lady, whose admirers crowded
round her open bier, and gazed, for the last time, on
the pallid face of the object of their adoration, which
was exposed uncovered to their view, accompanying the
funeral with their tears. All the eloquence and talent
of Florence were exerted to pay honour to her memory
in prose and verse. Lorenzo himself composed a few
sonnets, and to give them greater effect, he tried to
imagine that he also was a lover, mourning over the
untimely end of one beloved, and then again he reflected
that he might write still more feelingly, if he could dis-
cover a living object, to whom to address his homage.
He looked round among the beauties of Florence, to dis-
cover one whose perfections should satisfy his judgment,
as worthy of inspiring a sincere and constant attach-
ment. At last, at a public festival, he beheld a girl so
lovely and attractive in her appearance, that, as he gazed
on her, he said to himself, te If this person were pos-
sessed of the delicacy, the understanding, and accom-
plishments of her who is lately dead, most certainly she
excels her in personal charms." On becoming acquainted
with her, he found his fondest dreams realised : she was
perfectly beautiful, clever, vivacious, yet full of dignity
and sweetness. It is a pity that this account rather
chills us as we read his sonnets, and we feel them rather
as coming from the head than heart : yet they are
tender and graceful ; and it is not difficult for a youth
of an ardent disposition, and an Italian, to love a beau-
tiful girl, even at the word of command.
One of these sonnets possesses the simplicity and
grace which distinguish Lorenzo's poetry : we give
Mr. Roscoe's translation of it, and yet are not satisfied.
Mr. Roscoe wrote at a time when the common-places
of versification, brought in by the imitators of Pope,
were still in vogue ; but this observation applies chiefly
156 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
to the beginning of the sonnet; the conclusion is better,
yet the whole wants the brightness and spring of the
original. Happy are those who can refer to that.*
" Seek he who will in grandeur to be blest,
Place in proud halls, and splendid courts, his joy ;
For pleasure or for gold his arts employ,
Whilst all his hours unnumber'd cares molest.
A little field in native flowrets drest,
A rivulet in soft numbers gliding by,
A bird, whose love-sick note salutes the sky,
With sweeter magic lull my cares to rest.
And shadowy woods, and rocks, and towering hills,
And caves obscure, and nature's freeborn train,
And some lone nymph that timorous speeds along,
Each in my mind some gentle thought instils
Of those bright eyes that absence shrouds in vain ;
Ah, gentle thoughts ! soon lost the city cares among."
Many sonnets and canzoni were written to celebrate
this lady's perfections and his passion, but he never
mentions her name. From contemporary poets, Politian
and Verini, who addressed her, and Valori, who wrote a
life of Lorenzo, we learn, that her name was Lucretia,
of the noble family of Donati; an ancestor of whom,
Cuzio Donato, had been celebrated for his military en-
terprises. But it is mutual love that excites our sym-
pathy, and there is no token that Lucretia regarded her
lover with more fervour than he deserved; for, however
Verini may undertake to prove that he was worthy of
a return for his attachment, a different opinion must be
formed, when we find that he married a short time
after, not the sighed for Lucretia, but Clarice degli
Orsini ; and although the usual excuse is given, that
this marriage was consented to by him to please his
relatives, and as he expresses it, " I took for a wife, or
* " Cerchi chi vuol, le pompe, e gli alti honori,
Le piazze, e tempii, e gli edeficii magni,
Le delizie, il tezor, qual accompagni
Mille duri pensier, mille dolori :
Un verde praticel pien di bei fiori,
Un rivolo, che 1* erba intorno bagni,
Un angeletto che d' amor si lagni,
Acqueta molto meglio i nostri ardori :
L' ombrore selve, i sassi, e gli alti monti
Gli antri oscuri, e le fere fuggitive,
Qualche leggiadra ninfa paurosa ;
Quivi veggo io con pensier vaghi e pronti
Le belle luci, come fossin vivi.
Qui me le toglie or' una, or' altra cosa."
LORENZO DE* MEDICI. 157
rather was given me ; " yet as Lucretia must have been
the victim of his obedience, it is agreeable to find that
she gave slight ear to his empty or deceptive protest-
ations.
His other poems were composed as recreation during
a busy life, and many of them are animated by glowing
sensibility or light-hearted hilarity. Among them the
most celebrated is " La Nencia da Barbarino/' where he
makes a swain praise his mistress in rustic phrase ;
this is a dangerous experiment, but Lorenzo perfectly
succeeded. His poem is totally devoid of affectation,
and is so charming for its earnestness and simplicity,
that it was repeated and sung by every one in Florence.
Many tried to imitate the style, but vainly; and they
complained that, though many peasant girls were cele-
brated, La Nencia da Barbarino was the only rustic
beauty who could gain the popular favour.
His Canzoni Carnaleschi are animated and original ;
he was the inventor of this style of song. He exerted
himself, on all occasions, to vary and refine the public
amusements of Florence, and during the carnival, the
period of gaiety and pleasure in Catholic countries, in-
troduced processions and dances of a novel and delightful
description. It was the custom of the women to form
themselves into bands of twelve, and, linked hand with
hand, to sing as they danced in a circle. Lorenzo com-
posed several canzoni a hallo, which became favourites
for these occasions. One of these, —
" Ven venga Maggio
E 'I Gonfalon selvaggio," &c.
" Welcome, May,
And the rustic banner," &c. —
is the prettiest and most spirited song for May ever
written. His processions and masquerades afforded also
subjects for verse. Bands of people paraded the city
in character, personating triumphs, or exhibitions of the
arts ; and Lorenzo wrote songs, which they chanted
as they passed along. It is singular, that, free and
energetic as the Florentines were, yet the songs com-
158 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
posed for them never spoke of liberty, but turned upon
love only : love was all their theme — love that was
often licentiousness, and yet described with such truth
and beauty, as must have tended greatly to enervate,
and even to vitiate, the various persons that formed
these gay companies. Lorenzo's canzoni are tainted with
this defect.
Lorenzo was a faithful and kind, though not a
fond husband. His feelings were always held in dis-
cipline by him ; and if he were too sensitive to the in-
fluence of beauty, yet his actions were all regulated by
that excellent sense of justice and duty which is his
admirable characteristic. There are some elegiac stanzas
preserved of his, which prove that he suffered at one
time the struggles and errors of passion, and was sub-
dued by it to other thoughts than those which his reason
approved. How different is this poem to those ad-
dressed to Lucretia Donati. There is no Platonic re-
finement, no subtlety, no conceit, no imitation of Pe-
trarch; its diction is clear and sweet; truth and strength
of feeling animate each expression ; it bears the stamp
of heartfelt sincerity, and is adorned by all the delicacy
which real passion inspires. ' ' Ah ! " he exclaims, " had
we been joined in marriage ! Had you been earlier
born, or had I come later into the world \" These
stanzas are even left unfinished, and probably were
concealed, as revealing a secret which it would have
been fatal to have discovered to the world.
Besides the animated and gay songs, and choruses,
in which Lorenzo is unrivalled, he wrote several de-
scriptive poerns : one long one relates the history of how
his favourite country house, named Ambra, was carried
away by the overflowing of the Ombrone. He figures
the villa to be a nymph, of whom the river god is
enamoured, and, like one of Ovid's heroines, she falls
a victim to his pursuit. The descriptions in this poem
are lively, true, and graceful. The " Caccia di Fal-
cone" gives a spirited detail of the disasters that befall
falconers : he bring in several of his friends by name.
MARSIGLIO FICINO. 159
fc Where is Luigi Pulci/' he cries, " that we do not
hear him ? He is gone before in that grove, for some
•whim has seized him, and he has retreated to meditate
a sonnet."
Lorenzo died at the early age of forty-four, of
painful and inexplicable disorder, which, attacking his 8-
stomach, gave rise to the idea that he was poisoned, 14
He was considerate and affectionate to the last ; en-
deavouring to impress his system of policy on his son's
mind, and exerting himself to lighten the grief of those
around him. Potents and wonders followed his 'death,
which even Machiavelli, then a very young man,
deemed miraculous. He was universally lamented ; and
the downfall of his family, which occurred soon after,
through the misconduct of his eldest son, Piero, renewed
the grief of the friends who survived him.
MARSIGLIO FICINO.
THE literary tastes of Cosmo, the talents and admir-
able qualities of Lucretia, the mother of Lorenzo, and
the example and protection of Lorenzo himself, rendered
his a golden era for poets and philosophers. It has
been already mentioned, that for the sake of spreading
abroad a knowledge of the Platonic doctrines, Cosmo
had caused the son of his favourite physician to be
educated in the study and cultivation of them. Marsiglio
Ficino was born at Florence, on the 18th of October,
1433. His first studies were directed by Luca Quar-
qualio, with whom he read Cicero, and other Latin
authors ; applying his attention principally to the men-
tion made of Plato, and already admiring and loving
his philosophy. His father, being poor, sent him to study
at Bologna, to the discontent of Marsiglio; but for-
tunately, one day, during a casual visit to Florence, his
father led him to Cosmo de' Medici, who, struck with
the intelligence exhibited in his countenance, chose him
at once, young as he was, to be the future support of
160 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
his Platonic academy ; and, turning to the father, said,
' f( You were sent us by heaven to cure the body, but
your son is certainly destined to cure the mind." * He
adopted him in his house ; and Marsiglio never ceased
to testify his gratitude, and to declare that he had been
to him a second father. He was given up henceforth to
Platonism. At the age of twenty-three he wrote his
" Platonic Institutions." Plato was his idol ; he talked
Plato, thought Plato, and became almost mad for Plato,
and his deepest and most wonderful mysteries. The
celebrated Pico della Mirandola shared his studies and en-
thusiasm. It was not, however, till after having written
his ' ( Institutions," that, at the advice of Cosmo, he learnt
Greek, the better to understand his favourite author.
He translated, as the first fruits of this study, the
" Hymns of Orpheus" into Latin ; he translated, also,
the " Treatise on the Origin of the World/' attributed
to Hermes Trismegistus ; and, presenting it to Cosimo,
he was rewarded by him by the gift of apodere, or small
farm, appertaining to his own villa of Caneggi near
Florence, and a house in the city, besides some mag-
1468. nificent manuscripts of Plato and Plotinus. After this
^tat' Ficino occupied himself by translating the whole of
Plato's works into Latin, which he completed in five
years. He afterwards assumed the clerical profession,
1475. and Lorenzo bestowed on him the cure of two churches,
J?Etat> and made him canon of the cathedral of Florence, on
"" which he gave up his patrimony to his brothers. He was
a disinterested and blameless man : gentle and agreeable
in his manners, no violent passions nor desires disturbed
the calm of his mind. He loved solitude, and delighted
to pass his time in the country, in the society of his
philosophic friends. His health was feeble, and he was
subject to severe indispositions, which could not induce
him .to diminish the ardour with which he pursued his
studies. Sixtus IV., and Mathew Corvino, king of Hun-
gary, tried to induce him, by magnificent offers, to take up
Tiraboschi.
GIOVANNI PICO BELLA MIBANDOLA. l6l
his abode at their several courts, hut he would not quit
Florence. Many foreigners, particularly from Germany,
visited Italy for the express purpose of seeing him, and
studying under him. He died on the first of October,
1499* at the age of sixty-six. In the year 1521, a
marble statue was erected in Florence to his memory.
GIOVANNI PICO DELLA MIRANDOLA.
As the name of Pico della Mirandola has been men-
tioned, it is impossible not to bestow some attention on
a man who was the glory and admiration of Italy. Gio-
vanni Pico della Mirandola, Conte della Concordia, was
born in the year 1 463 ; his father, Gian Francesco Pico,
was lord of Mirandola and Concordia ; his mother's
name was Julia Boiarda. From his earliest years he
manifested an extraordinary understanding and me-
mory : he was naturally disposed to literary and poetic
pursuits ; but at the age of fourteen, being destined, as a
younger son, for the church, he was sent to Bologna
to study canon law. After two years spent in this
way, he resolved to give himself up to philosophy,
and visited the most celebrated schools of France and
Italy, in which, studying under and disputing with the
professors of highest reputation, he acquired an eru-
dition that made him the wonder and delight of his
contemporaries. To Greek and Latin he added a know-
ledge of Hebrew, Chaldaic, ancl Arabic. He relates
how he was enticed by an impostor to purchase, at a
high price, seventy Hebrew manuscripts, which he was
told were genuine, and composed by order of Esdras,
and contained the most recondite mysteries of religion.
These were the books of the Cabala, or of the Tra-
ditions, which the Jews believe to have been collected
at the command of Esdras. At the age of twenty-three
Pico visited Rome, during the reign of Innocent VIII. ;
and here he published- f)00 propositions — dialectic,
moral, physical, mathematical, theological, &c. £c. —
VOL. I. M
l6'2 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
offering to dispute with any one concerning them. These
propositions still exist among his works, a sorrowful
monument of the pedantry of the age, which could turn
aside so admirable an understanding, from loftier and
more useful studies, to the suhtilties and frivolities of
scholastic arguments. But, in those days, they caused
Pico to be considered something wonderful, and almost
divine. Yet they led him into annoyance, as envy caused
other learned men to denounce thirteen among the propo-
sitions to be heretical, and he wrote a long apology to clear
himself. This rather increased his difficulties ; twice he
was cited before the papal tribunal, but was each time
pronounced innocent. This persecution caused him to
reform his life. Handsome, young, rich, and of at-
tractive manners, he had hitherto enjoyed the pleasures
usual to his period of life ; but henceforth he gave
himself up to piety, burning his love verses, and de-
voting himself to theology and philosophy. He spent
the last years of his life at Florence, in the society of
Lorenzo and his friends. He was beside Lorenzo at
his last moments ; and, in a cheerful conversation with
him, that amiable man spent his last hours, saying, that
he should meet death with more satisfaction after this
interview. Pico has been praised by every writer for
his beneficence and generosity; he died in the year
1494, in his thirty-second year only.
ANGELO POLIZIANO.
POLITIAN formed a third, and was the dearest of Lo-
renzo's friends. He was born at Monte Pulciano, a
small town not far from Florence ; he was named An-
gelo, and his father was called Benedetto di Cini. The
son' adopted the place of his birth for a surname,
changing Pulciano into the more euphonic appellation
of Poliziano. He was born on the 24-th of July, 14-54 :
his father was poor, which occasioned him in his youth
to call himself Angelo Basso. Brought to Florence
ANGELO POLIZIANO. l63
during his childhood, he studied under the most cele-
brated scholars of the day, Cristofero Landino, and
Giovanni Agyropylo. It is uncertain whether he de-
^rived this advantage from his father's care, or from the
kindness of Lorenzo de' Medici, as it is not known at
what age he first became known to that munificent
patron. His own words are, " From boyhood almost
I was brought up in that asylum of virtue, the palace .'
of the great Lorenzo de' Medici, prince of his flourish-
ing republic of Florence." * These words coincide with
the general idea, that at a very early age he attracted
the notice of Lorenzo by his poem entitled, c< Gicstra
di Giuliano de' Medici," written to celebrate the first
tournament of Giuliano, as Luca Pulci had composed an-
other in honour of that of Lorenzo. This poem consists
of 1400 lines, and yet is left unfinished; breaking
off at the moment that the tournament is about to be-
gin. It commences by an address to Lorenzo, and then
goes on to describe the youthful occupations of Giuliano,
his carelessness of female beauty, and the subduing of his
heart by the lovely Simonetta. A description of Venus
and the island of Cyprus is introduced : it concludes •
abruptly, as is often the case with youthful attempts. .
Yet the beauty and variety of the ideas, and smoothness
and elegance of the versification, render it doubtful to
critics whether it was written at so early an age as
fourteen. At least it must cause regret that he after-
wards applied himself to compositions in Latin : for
though his poetry in that language has a life and vigour
which distinguishes it from any other of his age, yet it
must always fall'short of the genuine flow of thought,
in which a poet so easily indulges when he adopts his
native tongue.
From the period that he took up his abode in Lorenzo's
palace, he received the instructions of the most celebrated
men of the age, and his progress showed his aptitude to
learn. He enjoyed here also the society of Lorenzo's
Tiraboschi.
M 2
l64> LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
accomplished mother, Lucretia Tornabuoni, a lover of
poetry, and herself a poetess. Lorenzo afterwards ap-
pointed him tutor to his children ; hut he did not agree
so well with Mona Clarice. When Lorenzo was en-
gaged in the hazardous war that disturbed the begin-
ning of his political life, he sent his wife and children
to Pistoia, with Politian as tutor, who wrote frequent
letters to Lorenzo, with accounts of the well-being and
J occupations of his family. tf Piero," he writes, " never
leaves my side, nor I his. I should like to be useful
to you in greater things ; but since this is entrusted to
me, I willingly undertake it." — " All your family are
well. Piero studies moderately ; and we wander
through the town to amuse ourselves. We visit the
gardens, of which this city is full, and sometimes the
library of Maestro Zambino, where I have found several
good Greek and Latin books. Giovanni * rides on his
pony all day long, followed by numbers of people.
Mona Clarice is well in health ; but takes pleasure in
nothing but the good news she receives from you, and
seldom quits the house." In another letter he asks,
that more power may be given to .him over the studies
J of the boys : — "As for Giovanni, his mother employs
him in reading the Psalter, which I by no means com-
mend. Whilst she declined interfering with him, it is
wonderful how he got on." Monna Clarice was not
better pleased with the tutor than he with her. She
writes to her husband — "I wish you would not make
me the fable of Francho, as I was of Luigi Pulci ; and
that Messer Angelo should not say that he remains in
my house in spite of me. I told you, that if you
wished it, I was satisfied that he should stay, though
I have suffered a thousand impertinences from him. If
it is your will, I am patient ; but I cannot believe that
it should be so." Thus situated, Politian lamented the
absence of Madonna Lucretia from Pistoia, and com-
plained to her of the solitude he endured there. " I
call it solitude," he says, in a letter written at this
• Afterwards Leo X.
ANGELO POLIZIANO. 165
time to Lucretia, " for Monsignore shuts himself up in
his room, with thought for his only companion ; and I
always find him so sorrowful and anxious, that it in-
creases my melancholy to he with him : and when I
remain alone, weary of study, I am agitated hy the
thoughts of pestilence and war, regret for the past and
fear for the future ; nor have I any one with whom to
share my reveries. I do not find my dear Mona Lu-
cretia in her room, to whom I could pour forth my com-
plaints, and I die of ennui." *
At the age of twenty-nine, he was appointed to the
professorship of Greek and Latin eloquence in the uni-
versity of Florence. Happy in the friendship of his
patron, his life was disturbed only by literary squabbles, ••
in which he usually conducted himself with forbearance
and dignity. He was held in high repute throughout
Italy, and received preferment in the church, and on
one occasion was sent ambassador to the papal court.
His life for many years was one of singular good for-
tune and happiness : adversity ensued on the death of 1492.
Lorenzo. There is a long letter of his to Jacopo And- ^Etat.
quario t, which describes the last days of his beloved 38<
patron in affecting and lively terms. He speaks of the
counsels he gave his son, and his interview with his
confessor, during which he prepared himself for death
with astonishing calmness and fortitude. On one oc-
casion he made some enquiry of the servants, which
Politian answered, — <f Recognising my voice," he writes, •*
" and looking kindly on me, as he ever did, ' O Angelo/
said he, ' are you there ? ' and stretching out his lan-
guid arms, clasped tightly both my hands. I could not
repress my sobs and tears, yet, trying to conceal them, I
turned my face away ; while he, without being at all
agitated, still held my hands : but when he found that
I could not speak for weeping, by degrees and naturally
he set me free, and I hurried into the near cabinet, and
gave vent to my grief and tears."
* Roscoe's Life of Lorenzo de' Medici, Appendix, p. 60.
t Tiraboschi.
H 3
166 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
The disasters that befel the Medici family after the
death of Lorenzo, are supposed to have broken Poli-
tian's heart. The presumption and incapacity of Piero
caused him and all who bore his name to be exiled.
The French troops at that time invaded Italy under
Charles VIII. : they entered Florence,, and, in con-
junction with the ungrateful citizens, plundered and
destroyed the palace of the Medici ; and the famous
Laurentian library was dispersed and carried off in
the tumult. Politian had conjposed a pathetic Latin
monody on Lorenzo.*
" Who from perennial-streams shall bring,
Of gushing floods a ceaseless spring ?
That through the day in hopeless woe,
That through the night my tears may flow.
As the reft turtle mourns his mate,
As sings the swan his coming fate,
As the sad nightingale complains,
I pour my anguish and my strains.
Oh ! wretched, wretched past relief;
O grief! beyond all other grief! "
* We subjoin the whole of the original. The above verses are from the
translation of Mr. Roscoe : —
" Quis dabit capiti meo
Aquam ? quis oculis meis
Fontem lachrymarum dabit?
Ut nocte fleam,
Ut luce fleam.
Sic turtur viduus solet,
Sic cygnus moriens solet ;
Sic luscinia conqueri.
Heu, miser, miser!
O, dolor, dolor!
" Laurus impetu fulminis
Ilia, ilia jacet subito ;
Laurus omnium Celebris,
Musarum choris,
0 Nympharum choris,
Sub cujus patula coma,
Et Phrebi lyra blandius
Et vox dulcius insonat.
Nunc muta omnia !
Nunc surda omnia !
•c Quis dabit capiti meo
Aquam ? quis oculis meis
Fontem lachrymarum dabit ?
Ut nocte fleam,
Ut luce fleam.
Sic turtur viduus solet,
Sic cygnus moriens solet,
Sic luscinia conqueri.
Heu, miser, miser I ^
O, dolor, dolor ! "
LUIGI PULCI. 167
While singing these verses, after Lorenzo's death,
afflicted at the sad loss they commemorated,, and by the
adverse events which followed, a spasm of grief seized
him,, his heart suddenly broke from excess of feel-
ing, and he died on the spot. He died on the 24th of
September, 1494, having just completed his 40th
year, and having survived his illustrious friend little
more than two years.
BERNARDO PULCI.
MORE celebrated as an Italian poet than Politian, is
Luigi Pulci, author of " Morgante Maggiore." Very
little is known of his private history. There were three
brothers of this family, which is one of the most ancient
in Florence, since it carried back its origin to one of the
French families who settled in that city in the time of
Charlemagne : their fortunes, however, were decayed.
Bernardo, the elder, wrote an elegy on Cosimo de'
Medici ; and another very sweet and graceful sonnet on.
the death of Simonetta, whom Giuliano de' Medici
loved. He translated the Eclogues of Virgil into Ita-
lian, and wrote other pastoral poetry.
LUCA PULCI.
LUCA PULCI wrote the "Giostra di Lorenzo," before men-
tioned ; various poetic epistles, and two longer poems ;
one called the " Driadeo d' Amore," a pastoral founded
on mythological fables ; and the other, the " Ciriffo Cal-
vaneo," a romantic narrative poem, deficient in that
interest and poetic excellence necessary to attract readers
in the present day.
LUIGI PULCI.
LUIGI PULCI is the most celebrated of the brothers.
It was at the instigation of Lucrezia Tornabuoni,
M 4
168 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
mother of Lorenzo de' Medici,, who has been before
mentioned for her talents and love of literature, that he
wrote the " Morgante Maggiore ; " and Bernardo Tasso,
father of the great poet, relates that he read the cantos,
as they were written, at the table of Lorenzo.* No-
thing is known of the latter part of Luigi Pulci's
life. Alessandro Zilioli, in his inedited " Memoirs of
Italian Poets," cited by Apostolo Zeno, narrates that
Pulci died in a state of penury at Padua, and that, from
the impiety of his writings, he was denied the rites of
Christian burial ; but he is the only writer who mentions
this, and no great faith can be reposed in him.
The poem of " Morgante Maggiore " has excited
much discussion, as to whether it is intended to be con-
sidered a burlesque or serious poem. There is little of
what is absolutely tragic ; but much that is romantic
and interesting, mingled, as in the tragedies of Shak-
speare, with comedy. It is true that Pulci, while he
relates wonders, does so in a language so colloquial, as
to detract from the dignity of his heroes and the ma-
jesty of the adventures recounted ; but in this he rather
imitates than travesties real life, and especially the life of
the chivalrous ages, during which there was so strange a
mixture of the grand and the ridiculous. While read-
ing the poem, it seems difficult to understand the
foundation of the dispute, of whether it be impious,
and whether it be burlesque: it is at once evident
that the serious parts are intended to be elevated and
tragic. Dr. Panizzi's essay is clear and decisive on this
point ; and with him we may quote Ugo Foscolo, who
says, that " the comic humour of the Italian narrative
poems arises from the contrast between the constant
endeavours of the writers to adhere to the forms and
subjects of the popular story-tellers, and the efforts
made,, at the same time, by the genius of those writers,
to render these materials interesting and sublime."
Yet, doubtless, Pulci, as well as other writers of romantic
* Tiraboschi.
LUIQI PULCI. 169
narrative poems, introduces comedy, or, rather, farce,
designedly. Tasso alone, in his " Gerusalemme," ad-
hered to classic forms, and preserved the elevation of
epic majesty, unmingled with wit and ridicule.
The origin of the romantic tales of Charlemagne
and his Paladins, made so popular by Ariosto, and
celebrated by Pulci, Boiardo, and other poets, has been
much treated of. Earlier than these were " The Ad-
ventures of the Knights of the Round Table of King
Arthur." French authors have asserted that these also
are founded on stories of Charlemagne ; but Dr. Panizzi
asserts them to be of Welsh origin : he quotes Marie de
France, who declares that she translated several fabliaux
from British originals; and Chaucer, who, in the "Frank-
lin's Tale," says—
" These olde gentil Bretons in hir dayes
Of diverse adventures maden layes,
Rimeyed in hir firste Breton tongue;
"Which layes with hir instruments they songe,
Or elles redden him for hir pleasure."
The long narrative romances of Amadis of Gaul and
Palmerin of England (which the curate saved out
of the general burning of Don Quixote's library) are
supposed to be founded on various old lays and tales
put together in regular narration. In the same way,
the adventures of the French knights may be supposed
to be founded on songs and romances composed to cele-
brate favourite heroes. The authority perpetually quoted
by them all is archbishop Turpjn. This romance is
supposed to have been written during the time of the
first crusade : pope Calistus II. quotes it in a bull dated
1122, and pronounces it to be genuine. From this, as
from one source, the Italians drew, or pretended to draw,
the various adventures of their heroes. In all their poems
these are the same, and their peculiar characters are pre-
served; yet many of these personages are not even
mentioned by Turpin : the events of his book are the
wars of Charlemagne in Spain against the Saracens, and
the defeat of the Paladins at Roncesvalles, through the
treachery of Gaiio.
170 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Milone, a distant relative of Charlemagne, and Bertha,
J the'ljhrperor's sister, were the parents of Orlando. His
cKfldhood was spent in obscurity and hardships, owing
to the banishment of Milone and his wife when their
marriage was discovered. He was clothed by the charity
of four young friends, who brought cloth to cover him :
two bought white, and two red ; whence Orlando adopted
his coat of arms, del quartiere. Charlemagne saw him
1 on his road to Rome, Orlando introducing himself to
his imperial uncle's notice by stealing a plate of meat
for his mother. On this he was recognised ; castles and
lands were bestowed on him, he became the prop of
the throne, and married Alda, or Aldabella, who was
also connected with the royal familly.
The personage who ranks next to him in celebrity is
*f his cousin Rinaldq of Montalbano. Montalbano, or
Montauban, is a city on the banks of the Tarn, near its
junction with the Garonne. It is said to have been
built in 1144, after the date of archbishop Turpin's book,
who makes no mention of it or its lord. It is a strong-
hold ; and, even now, an old fortress, in the most ancient
. part of it, is called le Chateau de Renaud. Aymon,
duke of Dordona, had four sons ; the eldest was Rinaldo,
J who, having, in a transport of rage, killed Charlemagne's
nephew Berthelot with a blow of a chess-board, was,
with all his family, except his father, banished and
outlawed. They betook themselves to the forests and
the lives of banditti ; and, proceeding to Gasgony, Yon,
king of Bordeaux, gave his sister Clarice in marriage to
Rinaldo, and permitted him to build the castle of Mon-
tauban. After several disasters, he went to the Holy
' Land, and, on his return, made peace with the emperor.
The machinery of these poems is chiefly conducted, in
the first place, by the treachery of Ganp of Mayence,
who is perpetually trusted by Charlemagne, and per-
petually betrays him, turning his malice principally
against the cefebrated warriors of his court, while
they are protected by Rinaldo'* cousin Malagigi, or
Maugis, son of Beuves, or Buovo, of Aygremont.
LUIGI PULCI. 171
Malagigi was brought up by the fairy Orianda, and
became a great enchanter. To vary the serious cha-
racters of the drama, Astolfo, the English cousin of
Orlando, being equally descended with him from Charles
Martel, is introduced. Astolfo is a boaster : he is per-
petually undertaking great feats, which he is unable to
perform ; but he is generous, and brave to foolhardiness,
courteous, gay, and singularly handsome.
The family of the heroes of romance has been the
more dilated upon, as it serves as an introduction to all
the poems. But to return to Pulci, who is immediately
before us.
His poem wants the elevation, the elegance, and
idealism of Boiardo and Ariosto ; but it is not on that
account merely burlesque : it has been supposed to be
impious, on account of each chapter being addressed to
the Divinity, or, more frequently, to the Virgin. But
in those days men were on a much more familiar footing
than now with the objects of their worship ; and, even
at present, in purely catholic countries, — in Italy,
for example, — the most sacred names are alluded to
in a way which sounds like blasphemy to our ears,
but which makes an integral part of their religion.
There is but one passage in the "Morgante," hereafter to
be noticed, which really savours of unbelief. Thus, as
seriously, or, at least, with as little feeling of blas-
phemy, as an alderman says grace before a turtle feast,
Pulci begins his poem * : —
. _ "In the beginning was the Word next God ;
God was the Word, the Word no less was he :
This was in the beginning, to my mode
Of thinking, and without him nought could be.
Therefore, just Lord! from out thy high abode,
Benign and pious, bid an angel flee,
One only, to be my companion, who
Shall help my famous, worthy, old song through.
* " In principio era il Verbo appresso a Dio :
Ed era Iddio il Verbo, e '1 Verbo lui :
Questo era nel principio, al parer mio;
K nulla si pub far sanza costui :
Per<\ giusto Signor benigno e pio,
Mandnmi folo un de gli angcli tui,
Che m' accompagni, e rechimi a niemoria
Una faraosa antica e degna storia.
172 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
" And thou, O Virgin ! daughter, mother, bride
Of the same Lord, who gave to you each key
Of heaven and hell, and every thing beside,
The day thy Gabriel said, ' All hail! ' to thee ;
Since to thy servants pity 's ne'er denied,
With flowing rhymes, a pleasant style and free ;
Be to my verses then benignly kind,
And to the end illuminate my mind."
LORD BYRON'S Translation of Canto I. of Pulci. •
The scope of the poem is then, in true epic fashion,
summed up in a few lines * : —
" Twelve paladins had Charles in court, of whom
The wisest and most famous was Orlando j
Him traitor Gan conducted to the tomb
In Roncesvalles, as the villain plann'd too,
While the horn rang so loud, and knell'd the doom
Of their sad rout, though he did all knight can do ;
And Dante in his comedy has given
To him a happy seat with Charles in heaven." — Id. ibid.
The poet then introduces the immediate object of the
poem. On Christmas day Charlemagne held his court,
and the emperor was over-glad to see all his noble Pala-
dins around him. His favour shown towards Orlando
excited the spleen of Gano, who openly attacked him as
too presumptuous and powerful. Orlando overhearing
his words, and perceiving Charlemagne's ready credu-
lity, drew his sword in a rage, and would have killed
the slanderer, had not Ulivieri interposed. On this
Orlando quits Paris, full of grief and rage, and goes
forth to wander over the world in search of adventures.
His first enterprise is undertaken in behalf of a convent,
besieged by three giants, who amused themselves by
" E tu Vergine, figlia, e mad re, e sposa
Di quel Sigrior, che ti dette le chiave
Del cielo e dell' abisso e d' ogni cosa,
Quel di che Gabriel tuo ti disse Ave !
Perchfe tu se' de' tuo' servi pietosa,
Con dolce rime, e stil grato e soave,
Ajuta i versi miei benignamente,
E'nfino al fine allumina la mente."
Morgante Mag. canto i.
* " Dodici paladini aveva in corte
Carlo ; e'l piu. savio e famoso era Orlando :
Gan traditor lo condusse a la morte
In Roncisvalle un trattato ordinando ;
La dove il corno sono tanto forte
Dopo la dolorosa rotta, quando
Ne la sua commedia Dante qui dice,
E mettelo con Carlo in ciel felice." Id. ibid.
LUIGI PULCI. 173
throwing fragments of rock and trees torn up by the
roots, into the courts and garden of the monastery, which
kept the poor monks in perpetual alarm. Notwithstand-
ing their dissuasions, Orlando conceives this to be an
adventure worthy of him : he goes out against the pagan
and monstrous assailants. He kills two in single combat,
and then goes to seek the fiercest and mightiest of the
three, Morgante. This ferocious giant has retired,
meanwhile, to a cavern of his own fashioning, and was
dreaming uneasily of a serpent who came to slay him,
which was only defeated by his having recourse to the
name of the Christian Saviour. This disposed him to
submission and conversion, and Orlando, delighted with
these good dispositions, embraces and baptizes him.
The monks are very grateful for their deliverance, and
desirous to keep their preserver ; but Orlando, tired of
idleness, takes a kind and affectionate leave of the
abbot, whom he discovers to be a cousin of his own,
and departs with his convert in search of adventures.
Meanwhile, Rinaldo, enraged at his cousin's depar-
ture, and the partiality displayed by the emperor for the
traitor Gano, leaves the court with Ulivieri and Du-
done in search of the wanderer. They meet with a va-
riety of adventures, and join him at last in the court of
king Caradoro, whom they aid in his war with king
Manfredonio, who demanded, at the sword's point, the
beautiful Meridiana, daughter of Caradoro, as his wife.
Manfredonio is defeated. The verses that describe his
final departure, at the persuasion of Meridiana, and the
force of love which caused him to submit to her decree
of banishment, forms one of the prettiest episodes of the
Morgante. Meridiana falls in love with Ulivieri, who
had delivered her: he converts her to Christianity;
but this does not prevent him from following the ex-
ample of the pious JEneas, and deserting her a short
time after.
Gano was not content with the dispersion and exile
of tne Paladins : he sent messengers to Caradoro and
Manfredonio, telling who the wanderers were, and inci-
174 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
ting these monarchs to destroy them. Besides this, he
invited Erminione, a Saracen king of Denmark, to
attack France while unprotected by its bravest warriors.
The king succeeds so well, that, besieging Paris, he
took prisoner all the remaining Paladins; and poor
Charlemagne, who cuts a sorry figure throughout the
Morgante, sighs for the return of Orlando and Rinaldo.
Gano triumphed, and offered one of the enemy's gene-
rals to deliver up Montalbano to him by treachery ;
Lionfante nobly refuses, and feels inclined to put the
traitor to death ; he is saved by the intercession of the
family of Chiararaonte, who feared that if things were
pushed to an extremity with him, his followers would
revolt, and endanger the empire.
Orlando and his friends hearing in the course of
their wanderings of the danger of Charlemagne, re-
turned with a large army to deliver him. Gano wants
to persuade the emperor that these allies are enemies
in disguise; but the strength and valour of the most
renowned Paladins are not to be mistaken. The magic
arts of Malagigi the enchanter persuade Lionfante of
the truth of the Christian religion : he is converted,
and the war comes to an end, to the great discontent
of the indefatigable Gano, who instantly begins to stir
up another, informing Caradoro of the seduction of
Meridiana, who sends a giant ambassador to complain
to Charlemagne. The ambassador behaves with extreme
impertinence, and is killed by Morgante.
Rinaldo, who is rather quarrelsome, has a dispute with
Ulivieri, on which, at the instigation of Gano, he is
banished ; and he and Astolfo become bandits. As-
tolfo is taken by treachery, and sentenced to be hanged.
Poor fellow ! Astolfo, who is always good-humoured
and courageous, is a kind of scape-goat, for ever in
humiliating and dangerous situations. He is now worse
off than ever ; but while ascending the gallows, and
while the halter is fitting, a tumult is made to save him,
and Charlemagne, overpowered, to preserve his life and
kingdom, pardons him and Rinaldo, and banishes Gano.
LUIGI PULOI. 175
But this was only done to gain time. The emperor
hates the race of Chiaramonte in his heart ; and Ric-
x ciardetto, the youngest brother of the house, being taken
prisoner while Rinaldo is absent, Charlemagne resolves
to hang him. The Paladins were highly indignant, and
Orlando left the court ; but Ricciardetto was saved by
his brother Rinaldo, who drove the emperor from his
throne, and forcing him to take refuge in one of Gano's
castles, took possession of the sovereignty himself; till,
hearing that Orlando was imprisoned and sentenced to
die by a pagan king of Persia, he restores^ the emperor
to his throne, causes Gano to be banished, and sets out
to deliver his cousin, accompanied by Ulivieri and Ric-
ciardetto. He succeeds in his attempt by means o*
An tea, the daughter of the king of Babylon, who falls
in love with him. It is impossible to follow all the in-
tricacies of the adventures and the wars that ensue,
the interest of which is derived from the detail and ex-
pression, both lost in a brief abstract. Antea, while
she continues to be devotedly attached to Rinaldo, is,
on some treacherous suggestion of Gano, induced to
enter France, and takes possession of the castle of
Montalbano. Rinaldo is sent by her father against the
old man of the mountain, whom he takes prisoner and
converts to Christianity : and Orlando, who is engaged
in fighting and conquering whole armies, hurries to
deliver Ricciardetto and Ulivieri, who are going to be
hanged by Antea's father.
Morgan te had been left behind in France, but sets
out to rejoin Orlando, and in his way to Babylon falls
in with Margutte. Margutte is a singular invention, a
caprice of the poet. Pulci resolved to paint a fellow
without conscience, religion, humanity, or Care for
aught but the grossest indulgences of the senses. Lord
Byron has imitated a part of his confession of faith in
one of his poems : —
" I know not," quoth the fellow, "who or what
He is, nor whence he came, — and little care;
But this I know, that this roast capon 's fat,
And that good wine ne'er wash'd down better fare."
Don Juan, canto iii. v. 4
176 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
(e My name is Margutte/' says this strange being ;
(f I was desirous of becoming a giant, but half way I
repented, so that I am only ten feet high. I neither
believe in black nor blue, but in capon, whether it be
boiled or roast, and I have faith sometimes in butter
and other good things ; but above all, I put my trust in
good wine. I believe in tarts and tartlets — the one
is the mother, the other is the son ;" — and he con-
tinues in a style of blasphemy more shocking to our
protestant ears than those of the most pious catholics,
who, as has been mentioned, are apt to allude in very
familiar terms to the mysterious and almighty Beings,
whom they do not the less on this account adore, and
propitiate with prayer.
Margutte's adventures are conducted with a kind
of straightforward wickedness which amuses from its
very excess : at an inn, after eating up all that is to be
got, — his appetite is enormous, — and robbing the host,
he sets fire to the house, and departs with Morgan te,
rejoicing greatly in his success, and carrying off every
thing he could lay his hands upon. They go travel-
ling on, and meet with various adventures. Morgante
is infinitely amused by his companion, but preserves a
gentleness, a generosity, and kindness of heart, which
contrasts agreeably with the other's unmeasured sen-
suality. At last, one morning, Morgante, to play him
a trick, draws off Margutte's boots while he is asleep,
and hides them ; Margutte looks for them, and at
length perceives an ape, who is putting them on and
drawing them off; the sight of the animal thus engaged
so tickles Margutte's fancy, that he laughs till he bursts.
Morgante weeps over him, and buries him in a grotto.
The whole episode of Margutte is distinct from the
rest of the work. Pulci allows that it is not to be found
in any of the old songs. Dr. Panizzi supposes, that under
the name of Margutte is concealed some individual well
known to Pulci and his friends, but at variance with
them; and therefore made an object of sarcasm and
ridicule.
We must hurry on to the conclusion of this poem,
LUIGI PULCI. 177
for the incidents are so multiplied and various, that
it would occupy many pages to give an account of them.
Poor Morgante dies — the gentle Christian giant, the de-
fender of ladies, and fast friend of Orlando. He is on
board a vessel which is wrecked, and he is saved on the
back of a whale, but on landing is bitten by a crab on
the heel : he ridicules the wound ; but it proves fatal, and
poor Morgante dies. Gano, a traitor to the end, is sent
to Saragossa to treat with Marsiglio, who having been
lately defeated, is to pay tribute to Charlemagne. He
there schemes the destruction of Orlando, who, is to
come slenderly accompanied to Roncesvalles to receive
the tribute. The traitor arranges with the king that
he shall advance accompanied by 600,000 men ; who,
divided into three armies, shall successively attack the
Paladin and his few troops. One of the best passages
of Pulci is the scene in which the treacherous attack of
Roncesvalles is determined on between Marsiglio and
Gano. After a solemn dinner they walked into the park,
and sat down by a fountain in a solitary place. With
the hesitation and confusion of traitors they are dis-
cussing the mode of destroying the famous Paladin,
when heaven gives signs of anger by various and terri-
fying prodigies. Marsiglio's seat is upset ; a laurel
near is struck by a thunderbolt ; the sun is obscured ;
a violent storm and earthquake fill them with alarm ;
then a fire breaks out above their heads, and the waters
of the fountain overflowing are turned to burning blood ;
while the animals of the park attack each other. Gano
is struck by the fall of a large fruit from a carob tree, (the
tree on which Judas Iscariot is said to have hanged him-
self) ; his hair stands on end, and terror possesses hisheart;
but revenge is too burning within him to be quenched
by fear, and the plot is proceeded in notwithstand-
ing these frightful events. Orlando comes to Roncesvalles
with a small force, rather a retinue than an army, to re-
receive thegifts and submission of Marsiglio. The king is
not neglectful of his part ; his innumerable armies, one
after the other, attack Orlando. The Paladin and his
VOL. i. N
178 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
friends perform prodigies of valour ; but,, like waves of
the sea, their enemies come on irresistible from their
number. Orlando sees all die around him, and his soul is
pierced with grief; yet not till he feels himself dying will
he sound the mighty horn which is to give Charlemagne
notice of his peril. Theemperor hears the faint echo borne
on the winds three distinct times, and he and all around
him feel certain that treason is at work and Orlando in
danger. They turn pale with terror, and hasten to
the sad spot, where they find the noble warrior dead.
Rinaldo is near him. Rinaldo, at the moment that the
slaughter of Roncesvalles was preparing, was far away in
Asia. Malagigi his cousin puts a devil named Astoroth
into a horse, which is to bring him to his cousin's aid in
a few hours. This journey of Rinaldo and the evil
spirit forms a curious episode. They converse together
on their way concerning things divine and infernal.
On coming to this passage, the reader is struck by the
lofty tone the poet assumes : there is a mingled disdain,
dignity, and regret in the fallen angel, that moves at
once compassion and respect : he is thus described* : —
" This was a demon fell, named Astorot ; ^
No airy sprite, nor wanton fairy he ;
His home was down in the infernal grot,
And he was wise and fierce prodigiously."
It has been supposed that Pulci did not write this
portion of the poem. Panizzi does not hesitate to give
credit to the assertion of Tassof, who declares that it
was written by Ficino. But Tasso affirms this merely
upon hearsay, which is slender authority. There is
nothing to which contemporaries are more prone than
to discover that an author does not write his own works.
There is nothing in the style of these stanzas unlike
Pulci's best and more serious verses. Rinaldo's journey,
* " Uno spirto chiamato e Astarotte,
Molto savio, terribil, molto fero,
Questo si sta giu neP infernal grotte ;
Non fe spirito foletto. egli e piu nero."
Morg. Mag. xxv. 1J9.
•f Panizzi, Romantic Poetry of the Italians, p. 216.
CIECO DA FERRARA. 179
thus accelerated, was however to no purpose in saving his
cousin; he could only assist in his revenge — and the
poem concludes with the hanging of Gano and Marsiglio,
archbishop Turpin kindly undertaking to perform the
last office for the king with his own hand, and ties
him up to the famous carob tree.
The great beauty of the Morgante, besides scenes
and passages of pathos and beauty, is derived from the
simple, magnanimous, and tender character of Orlando.
Charlemagne is a doting old man, Gano a traitor, Rinaldo
a violent and headstrong warrior orrobber, Astolfo vain-
glorious, but all are selfish and erring, except the single-
minded and generous conte di Brava. He is the model of
a true knight, — compassionate, sincere, and valiant : his
death is courageous and pious : he thinks of the grief
of the emperor, and the mourning of his wife Aldabella,
and after recommending them to God, he embraces
his famous sword Durlindana, and pressing it to his
heart, and comforted by an angel from God, he fixes
his eyes on heaven and expires.
CIECO DA FERRARA.
THE " Morgante Maggiore" is the first of a series of
romantic narrative poems, which take Charlemagne and
his Paladins for the heroes of their tales. The " Mam-
briano" of Cieco da Ferrara is one of these. The real
name of the author was Francesco Bello. It has been
said that he was called Cecco or Cieco from his blind-
ness— but Cecco and Cecchino is the common Tuscan
diminutive for Francesco. Little is known of this
author, except the disaster that has already been men-
tioned, and that he was poor and lived at Ferrara, and
recited the cantos of his poem, as they were written,
at the table of the cardinal Ippolito da Este. Tirabos-
chi quotes from the dedication of Conosciuti, who pub-
lished the " Mambriano" after the author's death ; who 1509.
therein begs the cardinal to take the poem under his care,
N 2
180 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
and with his accustomed benevolence not to deny that
favour to the memory of Francesco, which he so frequently
and liberally bestowed during his life. Tiraboschi adds,
that such expressions do not seem to him to accord
with the idea that the poet lived and died poor. The
bounty of a patron is, however, various and capricious,
and, unless it takes the form of an annuity, seldom re-
lieves the wants of a dependant; and we may take Frances-
co's word that he was poor when he says — " The howling
of winds and roaring of waves which I hear now abroad
upon our sea, has so shattered the planks of my skiff,
that I lament that I undertook the voyage. On the
other side, penury burthens me with such need, that it
seems to me, that I can never acquire any praise if I
do not overcome these winds and storms."* His poem is
little read, and has never been translated. We have never
met with it ; but from the specimens given by Panizzi,
it is evident that he possessed ease of versification, and
a considerable spring of poetic imagery and invention.
BURCHIELLO.
VERY little is also known of this poet, whose real
name was Domenico. He is supposed to have been born
in Florence : he became free of the company of barbers
in that city in 1432, and exercised his trade in the
Contrada di Calemala. He died at Rome in 1448. His
poems are a strange and capricious mixture of sayings,
proverbs, and jokes, most of which are unintelligible to
the Italians of the present day. From them and his
name is derived the word burlesque, to signify a mock
tragic style of expression.
* " II fremitode' venti e'l suon del1' onde
Ch' io sento aiiesso in questo nostro mare,
Han cosi indebolite ambo le sponde
Del legno mio, ch' ioploro il navigate ;
Dall' altro canto poverta m' infonde
Tanta neCessita, che' 1 non mi pare
Di poter mai acquistar laude alcuna,
S' io non supero i venti e la fortuna."
Jdamb. xxviii. 1. as quoted by Dr. Panixzi.
181
BOJARDO.
MATTED MARIA BOJARDO was of an ancient and noble
family. His ancestors had been counts of Rubiera, a
castle between Reggio and Modena, till, in 1433, Fel-
trino Bojardo, then the head of the family, exchanged it
for Scandiano, a small castle about seven miles from
Reggio, at the foot of the Apennines, and celebrated for
its excellent wine. The sovereign house of Este added to
the possessions of the family, and Bojardo was count
of Scandiano, and lord of Aceto, Casalgrande, Gesso,
La Toricella, £c.
It appears that the poet was born in the castle of
Scandiano, about the year 1434, or a little before. His
father was Giovanni, son of Feltrino ; and his mother,
Lucia, was sprung of a branch of the famous Strozzi
family, original in Florence. Two of his near relatives,
on the mother's side, were elegant Latin poets. The
general outline merely of Bojardo's life is known there, J
and such delicate tints as we may catch from his lyrical
poetry. He received a liberal education, and was con-
versant in the Greek and Latin languages. He was
a vassal of the Este family, and lived at the court
of Borso the first duke of Ferrara, and afterwards of
his successor Ercole, to whom, indeed, he attached him-
self during the life of Borso, when it was very uncertain
whether he would succeed to the duchy. The services
he performed for this family are nearly the sole events
we collect of his life. When the emperor Frederic III.
visited Italy, Bojardo was one of the noblemen sent
out to meet and welcome him on his way to Ferrara, 1459.
where he was entertained with extraordinary magnifi- JEtat,
cence. Borso at this time was only marquis of Ferrara 35.
(though duke of Modena and Reggio), but the pope, 1471.
Paul II., soon after created him duke of that city, and JEtat.
Bojardo accompanied him to Rome, when he went thither 37>
to receive the investiture.
N 3
182 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
1472. Soon after, the poet married Taddea, daughter of the
./Etat. count of Novellara, of the noble house of Gonzaga. He
38> continued to enjoy the kindness and friendship of duke
1473. Ercole, who selected him with other nobles to escort to
. Ferrara his bride Eleonora, daughter of the king of
Naples. He was named by him also governor of Reggio;
which place he enjoyed, except during the short interval
when he was governor 01 Modena, till the period of his
death, which occurred at Reggio on the 20th of De-
JEtat. cem^er^ 1494, at the age of sixty. He was buried in
47. the church of Scandiano. Some traces remain to mark
j48g his character. He was so mild a governor as to excite
JEtat. tne indignation of a learned civilian, Panciroli, who,
52. speaking of him as a magistrate, reproves him as a man
J487. °f to° great benignity, — "better fitted to write verses
yEtat. than punish crimes." A contemporary Latin poet says,
53. " that he was not severe to the errors of love, but
kindly gave to others what he desired himself. He sat,
indeed, on the seat of justice, and gave forth laws with
a grave brow ; but his countenance was not always
severe ; day and night he sang the triumphs of love,
and while others studied the laws, he applied himself
to tender poetry."
His lyrical poetry is extremely beautiful, tender, and
spirited, being characterised by that easy flow of thought
and style peculiar to him. Since the days of Petrarch,
it is the fashion to affix one lady's name as the object
of a poet's verses. But, unfortunately, men, whether
poets or not, are apt to change. There are traces of
Bojardo's being attached to at least two ladies : and he
married a third. The most passionate of his verses
were written from Rome in 1471, and were addressed
to Antonia Caprara, a beautiful girl of eighteen, who,
whether married or not, shared his affection. Perhaps
this lady died ; but we do not appear to have any verses
to his wife, whom he married in 1472.
He was a good classical scholar, and translated the
" Golden Ass" of Apuleius, the history of Herodotus,
Halicarnassus, and the " Golden Ass" of Lucian. He
BOJARDO. 183
translated, altered, and enlarged the Pomariura of Rico-
baldi, to which, in its new form, he gave the name of the
" Imperial History." It is a sort of chronicle, full of ro-
mantic stories, founded on history and tradition, to which,
perhaps, credence was lent at that time. He wrote also a
drama called Timon, founded upon Lucian, which was
among the first specimens of Italian dramas, but it does
not appear to have great merit. He was the author also
of Latin eclogues, the language of which is elegant and
spirited.
His great worlc, however, is the "Orlando Innamorato," J
or " Loves of Orlando," founded on the old romances.
His disposition naturally inclined him to revel in ro-
mance, so that it is said that he used, at Scandiano, to
visit the old villagers, and draw from them their tra-
ditionary tales, rewarding them so well for the gratifi-
cation he received, that it became a sort of proverb or
exclamation of good-will at that place — "God send
Bojardo to your house ! " His " Imperial History,"
probably gave direction to his invention, which was
prolific. He took Orlando as his hero ; but deeming
him uninteresting unless in love, he called into life
the beautiful Angelica, whose coquetry, loveliness, and
misfortunes, made sad havoc in Charlemagne's court.
Mr. George Rose's prose translation of the l( Orlando
Innamorato" gives a spirited abstract of the story, which
must here be more briefly detailed.
Charlemagne, in the midst of prosperity and glory,
held a court at Paris, at which 22?030 guests were as-
sembled. Before these the beautiful Angelica presents ^
herself, with her brother Argalia, and four giants as
attendants. Her brother defies the knights to combat.
Argalia possessed an enchanted lance, which throws
whoever it touches ; and Ajigelica a ring, which, on
certain occasions, renders the wearer invisible. Every
one fell in love with Angelica, and in particular Or-
lando and Rinaldo. Angelica becomes frightened in J
the midst of the disturbances of the combats, and dis-
appearing by means of the ring, flies from the scene of
N 4
184 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
the tournament. She takes refuge in the wood of Ar-
dennes : arriving fatigued and heated, she drinks has-
tily of an enchanted fountain, which causes her to fall
in love with the first man she may chance to see ; and
then reposing on the flower-enamelled turf, falls asleep.
Orlando and Rinaldo pursue her, as does also her bro-
ther Argalia ; and Ferrau goes after him, being at the
moment of his flight engaged in combat with him.
Orlando and Rinaldo arrive at Ardennes ; but the latter,
on entering the forest, and refreshing himself at a foun-
tain, drinks of water enchanted by Merlin, which causes
him to hate the first woman he shall behold : he then
also lies down, and goes to sleep. Angelica wakes ; she
rises, wanders from her place of rest, and comes to the
spot where Rinaldo is reposing. Her love-blinded eyes
behold him, and, transported by sudden and subduing
passion, she watches his waking with fondness. He opens
his eyes, and holds in abhorrence the beauty who is
gazing upon him, and flies from her in disdain. Arga-
lia meanwhile arrives in the wood, pursued by Ferrau ;
he has lost his enchanted lance ; the enemies meet, and
continue the combat. Argalia is slain : while breathing
his last, he implores his enemy to cast him and his
armour into the river, that no trace may remain of his
disgrace. Ferrau agrees, but solicits the loan of his
helmet, he himself being without one, till he can get
another : Argalia consents, and dies ; while Ferrau,
who is a Saracen, hearing of the misfortunes of his
sovereign Marsiglio, who is attacked by Gradasso, king
of Sericana, gives up the pursuit of Angelica, and sets
out for Spain. Angelica returns to India, and Orlando
departs in quest of her.
Charlemagne goes to the assistance of Marsiglio
against Gradasso, who himself is a wonder of martial
prowess, and is attended by an innumerable army, and
several vast and fierce giants. Rinaldo has returned
to court, and accompanies his imperial master : during
the battle that ensues, he encounters Gradasso ; but
their single combat is interrupted by the hurry of the
BOJARDO. 185
fight, and they agree to meet in duel the next day on
foot, in a solitary place by the sea-side. Gradasso's
great object is to win Orlando's sword Durindana, and
Rinaldo's horse Bajardo : the latter is to be his prize, if
he overcomes Rinaldo on the following day.
Angelica meanwhile, burning with love for Rinaldo,
revolves many schemes for bringing him to her side.
She has in her power his cousin Malagigi (Maugis),
who is a great enchanter. She set him at liberty,
on condition that he shall bring Rinaldo to her.
Malagigi first tries to persuade his cousin ; but the
chilly waters have wrought too powerfully, and the very
name of Angelica is odious to him. Malagigi has re-
course to stratagem. When Rinaldo keeps his ap-
pointment the next morning with Gradasso, he finds
the sea-shore solitary: a little boat, tenantless, is anchored
near the beach. Malagigi sends a fiend, in the shape
of Gradasso, who, after a mock combat, take refuge in
the pinnace, followed by Rinaldo. The boat drifts out
to sea, the fiend vanishes, and Rinaldo is hurried away
across the ocean, till he arrives near a palace and garden,
where the vessel lightly drifts on shore.
Orlando wanders about to find Angelica, and hears that
she is at Albracca, a castle of Catay. But he is unable
to reach her, detained by a variety of adventures and
enchantments, through which he is at last deprived
of all memory or knowledge, and brought to a magni-
ficent palace, where he is left. Charlemagne meanwhile
is freed from Gradasso by means of Argalia's enchanted
lance, which, falling into Astolfo's possession, he works
miracles, unhorses the mighty king, and a peace being
agreed upon, he sets out in search of Orlando and Ri-
naldo. Poor Rinaldo is tempted meanwhile to soften
towards Angelica, but in vain. The luxuries of an
enchanted palace are wasted on him, and he is exposed
to the most frightful dangers, from which Angelica
delivers him ; but still he scorns and leaves her, while
she returns disconsolate to Albracca.
Her hand is sought by various princes and nobles ;
186 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
and in particular by Agricane, king of Tartary : she
refuses them all ; and Agricane, resolved to win her,
besieges her in Albracca. She is defended by various of
the Paladins, and goes herself with her ring in quest of
Orlando,, whom she restores to his senses. He gladly
hastens to her assistance ; he kills Agricane in a single
contest, and in reward, as she wishes to get rid of him,
Angelica sends him on a distant and perilous expedition.
The poem then enters on a new series of adventures,
arising from the revenge which Agramante wishes to
take on Orlando for having slain his father, king Tro-
jano, sixteen years before. We are now introduced to
several new heroes of romance, destined to play a dis-
tinguished part in the poem of Ariosto, as well as in the
present one. There is Ruggeri, whose name is adopted
from the Norman knight Ruggeri, who had been king
of Sicily ; and there is Rodomonte, the bravest, fiercest,
and wildest of all warriors. Ruggeri's presence is abso-
lutely needed for the success of Agramante's expedition ;
but he is imprisoned in a castle, whence he can only be
delivered by Angelica's magic ring. A thievish dwarf,
named Brunello, contrives to steal it from her, and
Ruggeri is liberated. The expedition embarks for
France, where Rodomonte, impatient of delays, had
already arrived, and devastates Provence ; while Mar-
siglio is induced, by the old traitor Gano, to invade
France from the Pyrenees.
Orlando, returning from his adventure, finds Angelica
besieged by Marfisa, and in great peril. He mentions,
that Rinaldo is in France : the name has not lost
its influence. She resolves to abandon Albracca ; and,
having lost her ring, is glad to be protected by Orlando,
who conducts her in safety to France ; and who, during
the long journey, never mentions his passion, nor
annoys her with any manifestation of it ; though she,
by her former coquetry, might well expect importunity:
but his generous and fond heart renders hinl silent, that
he may not disturb her lovely, serene countenance ;
" Per non turbare quel bel viso sereno."
BOJARDO. 187
Poor Angelica feels not less for Rinaldo ; but, arriving
at Ardennes, she is delivered from her misery, by drink-
ing of the fountain, that turns all her love to hate ;
while Rinaldo, also arriving, drinks of the love-in-
spiring waters, and with great joy seeing the lady, j
wonders at his past dislike, and congratulates himself
now on her passion. He addresses her with tenderness ;
but is repulsed with scorn, while her champion Orlando •>
is at hand to defend her. He challenges his cousin,
and they fight ; but Charlemagne, hearing of their ar-
rival in his kingdom, seizes on the lady, and forces the J
knights to be reconciled, privately promising to both
Angelica as a prize, if they will exert themselves during
the impending battle with Agramante. The poem now
relates the invasion of Agramante, of Mandricardo, son
of the slain Agricane, of Gradasso, and Marsiglio. A
great battle takes place, in which the Saracens are •»
triumphant, Orlando being absent. Rinaldo goes in
pursuit of his horse Bajardo ; while his sister Brada-
mante, a brave heroine, falls in love with Rugeri, and
withdraws from the field. Charlemagne retires to Paris,
and is besieged by the whole body of Saracens. The
poem ends with the commencement of a sort of episode,
in which Fiordespina, mistaking the sex of Brada-
mante, falls in love with her. In the middle of this, the
poet is interrupted. The sound of arms, which be-
tokens the invasion of the French, and the terror and
misery of Italy, call him from his task of fiction, to be
the witness of real woes. He promises, if the stars will
permit, to continue his narration another time. This
time never came, for the French invaded Italy in 14-94 ;
and it was in about the same year that Bojardo died.
This is but a brief abstract of a poem interspersed
with numerous episodes, beautiful descriptions, and in-
teresting reverses. The poet never flags. An untired
spirit animates every stanza, every verse : the life, the
energy, the variety, the fertility of invention, are truly
surprising, and far transcend Ariosto. But minuter
criticism is deferred, till an account is given of Berni
and his rifacimento.
188
BERNI.
FRANCESCO BERNI was born at Lamporecchio, in the Val
tli Nievole, towards the end of the fifteenth century. The
first eighteen years of his life were spent at Florence ;
whence he transferred himself to Rome, and entered on
the service of his relation,, the cardinal Bibbiena. On the
death of the cardinal, he attached himself to the nephew,
Angelo Divizio Bibbiena. He was at one time obliged
to leave Rome, on account of some adventure of gal-
lantry *; and afterwards entered the service of Giberti,
the papal Datario, with whom he remained seven years,
accompanying him whenever Giberti's duties as a bishop
took him to Verona. But Berni was a poet, and fond
of pleasure, and fortune could not obtain from him
the industry which might have advanced him with
his patrons. His vivacity and his poetry were agree-
able in society ; he became courted as a literary man ;
and he was a distinguished member of the academy of
the Vignaiuoli, or vine-dressers, composed of the first
men in Rome. This learned association was established
by a Mantuan gentleman, Oberto Strozzi. The mem-
bers assumed names adopted from the vineyard ; and
its feasts became famous all over Italy. Berni was at
Rome when it was plundered by the Colonna party in
1526, and was robbed of every thing: at the same time
he was struck with horror at the cruelties committed by
the invaders. He mentions them with horror in the
" Orlando Innamorato." When describing the sacking
of a town, he says, that his unhappy eyes saw similar
outrages perpetrated in Rome. He quitted the service
of the Datario after this, and retired to Florence, where
he lived tranquilly, being possessed of a canonicate, which
had before been given him in the cathedral of that city,
and enjoying the protection of cardinal Ippolito de'
Medici, and of the duke Alexander. There is a story
* PanizzL
BERNI. 189
of his being solicited by each of these princes to poison
the other, which is not supported by dates or facts.
Alexander was afterwards murdered by Lorenzino de*
Medici. The cardinal Ippolito had died before : Alex-
ander was accused of having poisoned him ; but accu-
sations of this sort were so frequent at that time, that,
according to historians and the popular voice, no man
of any eminence ever died a natural death. Berni is
said to have died on the 26'th of July, 1536.
Berni possessed, to an extraordinary degree, a liveli-
ness of imagination, and a facetiousness, which caused
him to invent a new style of poetry, light, witty, but
highly fanciful, which became the delight of his con-
temporaries. Mr. Stebbing speaks with great disappro-
bation of him, saying, " that we shall not be guilty of
much injustice, if we regard him as one of those eccle-
siastical Epicureans of the sixteenth century, whose
infidelity and licentiousness branded them with infamy."
His minor poems are witty, but indecent : they appear
to he written, says Tiraboschi, with ease and rapidity,
yet the original manuscripts show that he blotted and
corrected them with care. He wrote also Latin elegies;
and came nearer to Catullus, the critics tell us, than any
other poet of the age.
The work by which he is known to us, is the Rifaci-
mento of Bojardo's " Orlando Innamorato," which was
not published till after his death. He occupied himself
with this poem at Verona, while in the service of the
Datario. He addresses the Po in one of the cantos of
the poem, begging of it to restrain its rapid course
while he writes beside its banks ; and yet at this very
time his letters are full of complaints of the occupations
that take up all his time.
It is a curious subject to enquire, what the fault was
in Bojardo's poem, that rendered it necessary that it
should be rewritten. Berni was not the first to discover
this, as Domenichi had already altered the style of every
stanza; yet his rifacimento had not caused it to be popu-
lar. Meanwhile Ariosto wrote a continuation to it, which
190 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
he named the "Orlando Furioso," and that became the
delight and glory of Italy. The choice of subject in these
poets is admirable. When Milton thought of making
king Arthur and his knights the heroes of a poem, he
selected a subject which was devoid of any quick interest
to his countrymen : wars with France and civil struggles
had caused the British name to be forgotten. But thejMa-
hometans were still the terror of Italy. After the taking
of Constantinople, they pressed near upon the peninsula ;
Venice was kept in check,, and at one time Ancona was
actually taken by them. Every Italian heart felt triumph
in the overthrow of a Pagan and Saracen, and warmed
with interest when it was related how they were
driven from France. Bojardo made choice of the subject,
and he added life to it, by the introduction of Angelica.
His invention, his poetic fervour, his ceaseless flow of
fancy, were admirable ; yet he was forgotten. Many
of Ariosto's episodes are more tediousy and they are less
artificially introduced ; but Ariosto was a greater poet :
his style is perfectly beautiful, and his higher flights
entitle him to a very high rank among the writers of
verse. Perhaps, in the whole range of narrative poetry,
there is no passage to compete with the progress of Or-
lando's madness.
Berni evidently appreciated Ariosto's merits, and
he saw in Bojardo's a groundwork that emulated
them. His faults are doubtless greater than we can
judge, since style alone occasioned his want of popu-
larity : he has many Lombardisms ; and I heard a
learned Tuscan say, that nothing to their refined ear
was so intolerable as the pronunciation of the north.
Style, however, was his only fault ; arid Berni, in altering
that, brought at once to light the beauty of the poem : he
changed no incident, no sentiment, scarcely a thought ;
stanza by stanza he remodelled the expression, and this
was all; yet it would almost seem that he thus commu-
nicated a Promethean spark. Nothing can be more false
than the accusation, that he added any thing licentious
to the poem. Tiraboschi even gives credit to this idea ;
BEBNI. 191
but, on the contrary, his expressions are always more
reserved than those of the original. The comparison
may easily be made, by collating, in the two authors,
the passages which describe the meeting of Bradamante
and Fiordelisa, the welcome given by Angelica to Or-
lando when he arrives at Albracca, and the journey of
these two from Albracca to Provence ; and the above
assertion will at once be proved ; nor is it true that
Berni turned a serious poem into a burlesque. He added
lightness and gaiety, but seldom any ridicule. It is now
easy, since Dr. Panizzi's edition of the original poem,
to compare it with the rifacimento : an Italian alone
can be a competent judge; but it is easy for any one to
see the difference between the earnest language of Bo-
jardo, and the graceful wit of his improver. We will
give, as a specimen of the usual style of his alterations,
two stanzas, selected by chance in the poem : they de-
scribe the death of Agricane. Bojardo writes thus,
speaking of Orlando, when his adversary, having received
a mortal wound, asks him to baptize him * : —
" He had his face covered with tears, and he dis-
mounted on the ground : he took the wounded king in
his arms, and placed him on the marble of the fountain :
he was never weary of weeping with him, entreating for
pardon with a gentle voice. Then he baptized him
with water from the fountain, praying God for him
with joined hands. He remained but a short time,
* " Egli avea pien di lagrime la faccia,
£ i'u smontato in su la terra piana ;
Kicolse il Re ferito ne lebraccia,
I '. sopra M marino il pose a la font an a,
£ di pianger con seco non si saccia,
Chiedendogli pcrdon con voce umana.
Poi battezzollo a 1' acqua de la fonte,
Pregando Dio per lui con le man gionte.
" Poco poi stette, die 1' ebbe trovato
Freddo il viso e tutta la persona ;
Onde s'avvide ch' egli era passato.
Sopra al marmor al fonte 1' abbnndona,
Cosl com' era tutto quanto anna to,
Col lira ml i» in mano, c con la sua corona;
E poi verso il destrier fece riguardo,
E pargli di veder che sia Bajardo."
Orlando Inn. da Bojardo, lib, i. can. six. stan. 16, 17
192 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
finding his face and whole ^person cold, whence he
perceived that he was no more. He leaves him on the
marhle of the fountain, all armed as he was, with his
sword in his hand, and his crown, and then he turned
towards the horse, and thought that he recognised
Bajardo."
Thus alters Berni * : —
" Having his face covered with tears, the count dis-
mounts from Brigliadoro : he took the wounded king in
his arms, and placed him on the brink of the fountain,
entreating, while he kisses and embraces him, that all
past injuries might be forgotten. Not able to say
yes, the king inclines his head, and Orlando baptized
him with water ; and, at last, he found his face and
whole person cold, whence he judged that he was no
more ; wherefore he left him on the verge of the foun-
tain, all armed as he was, with sword in hand, and
with his crown : then, turning his look upon his horse,
it seemed to him that he recognised Bajardo."
This, of course, is a very clumsy mode of showing
the difference ; and yet it gives the mere English reader
an idea of the extent of Berni' s alterations.
But, although he did not materially change either
event or thought, he added to the poem ; and the real
merits of Berni became very evident in the introductory
stanzas which he appended to each canto. It seems to
me that these have never been sufficiently appreciated :
" Plena avendo di lagrhne la faccia
Scende di Brigliadoro in terra il Conte,
Recasi il Re ferito nelle braccia
E ponlo su la sponda della fonte ;
E pregando, lo hacia, e stretto abbraccia,
Che 1' ingiurie passate siano sconte,
Non potendo dir si, china il Re il collo,
E Orlando con 1' acqua battezzollo.
" E poiche finalmente gli ha trovato
11 viso freddo, e tutta la persona,
Ondc il giudica tutto trapassato,
Par sopra quella sponda 1' abbandona,
Cos! com era tutto quanto armato,
Col brando in mano, e con la sua corona :
Poi verso il suo caval volto lo sguardo
Gli par raffigurar, che sia Bajardo."
Orlando Inn. rifatto da JSerni, ca». xix. stan. 19, 20 .
BERNI. 193
they are not jocose nor burlesque ; they are beautiful
apostrophes, or observations upon the heart and fortunes
of human beings, embodied in poetic language and
imagery. Many of them are to be preferred to those of
Ariosto, whom he imitated in these additions. We have
noticed his address to the Po, which is singularly beau-
tiful; another well-known interpolation is the intro-
duction of a description of himself: this, it is true, is
burlesque; but the style of irony is exquisite, and,
surely, may be allowed, as it is directed against his own
faults and person. Mr. Rose has translated this passage,
and published it in his prose abstract of the (e Inna-
morato." Dr. Panizzi has quoted it also in his work.
He gives an account of his life ; of his birth at Lam-
porecchio ; of the " piteous plight" in which he so-
journed at Florence till the age of nineteen ; and his
journey to Rome, when he attached himself to his
kinsman, the cardinal Bibbiena, " who neither did him
harm nor good ;" and, on his death, how he passed to the
nephew, —
" Who the same measure as his uncle meted ; "
and then " in search of better bread," how he became
secretary to the Datario. Yet, he could not please his
new patron ; although
" The worse he did, the more he had to do."
Then he describes his own disposition and person : —
" His mood was choleric, and his tongue was vicious,
But he was praised for singleness of heart,
Nor taxed as avaricious or ambitious ;
Affectionate and frank, and void of art;
A lover of his friends and unsuspicious ;
And where he hated knew no middle part :
And men his malice and his love might rate;
But then he was more prone to love than hate.
" To paint his person, — this was thin and dry ;
Well sorting it, his legs were spare and lean ;
Broad was his visage, and his nose was high,
While narrow was the space that was between
His eyebrows ; sharp and blue his hollow eye,
Which, buried in his beard, had not been seen,
But that the master kept this thicket cleared,
At mortal war with moustache and with beard "
VOL. J. O
194 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
No one ever detested servitude as he did, though
servitude was still his dole. He then whimsically de-
scribes himself as inhabiting the palace of a fairy;
where, according to Bajardo, people are kept happily
and merrily, amusing themselves, and passing their lives
in indolence. Berni supposes himself to be one of the
company, together with a French cook, Maitre Pierre
Buffet, who had been in the service of Giberti ; and he
describes his beau-ideal of the indolent life he loved.
Tired with noise, lights, and music, he finds a lonely
room, and causes the servants to bring a bed into it, — a
large bed, — in which he might stretch himself at
pleasure ; and, rinding his friend the cook, another bed
is brought into the same room for him, and between
the two a table was placed : this table was well supplied
with the most savoury viands : —
" But soup and syrup pleased the Florentine (Berni),
Who loathed fatigue like death ; and for his part,
Brought neither teeth nor fingers into play,
But made two varlets feed him as he lay.
" Here couchant, nothing but his head was spied,
Sheeted and quilted to the very chin ;
And needful food a serving man supplied
Through pipe of silver placed the mouth within.
Meanwhile the sluggard moved no part beside,
Holding all motion else mere shame and sin :
And (so his spirits and his health were broke),
Not to fatigue this organ, seldom spoke."
"The cook was Master Peter hight, and he
Had tales at will to wile away the day ;
To him the Florentine: — 'Those fools, pardie,
Have little wit, who dance that endless way.'
And Peter in return : ' I think with thee.'
Then with some merry story back'd the say,
Swallowed a mouthful, and turned round in bed,
And so, by starts, talked, turned, and slept, and fed."
* * * *
" Above all other curses, pen and ink
Were by the Tuscan held in hate and scorn.
Who, worse than any loathsome sight or stink,
Detes'ted pen and paper, ink and horn.
So deeply did a deadly venom sink,
So fester'd in his flesh a rankling thorn,
While, night and day, with heart and garments rent,
Seven weary years the wretch in writing spent.
Of all their ways to baffle time and tide,
This seems the strangest of their waking dreams :
Couched on their backs, the two the ratters eyed,
And taxed their drowsy wits to count the beams.
BERNI. 195
'T is thus they mark at leisure which is wide,'
Which short, or which of due proportion seems,
And which worm-eaten are, and which are sound,
And if the total sum is odd or round."
This is a specimen of Berni's humour, which gave the
name of Bernesco to poetry of this nature. More
serious and more elegant verses abound, as we have
already remarked, and prove that Berni deserves a very
high place among Italian poets.
o 2
196
ARIOSTO.
LUDOVICO ARIOSTO was born in the castle of Reggio, a
city of Lombardy, on the 8th of September, 1474.
Both his parents were of ancient and honourable lineage:
the Ariosti had long been distinguished in Bologna,, when
a daughter of their house, Lippa Ariosta, a lady of
great beauty and address, being married toObizzo III.,
marquis of Este, brought a number of her relatives to
Ferrara : these, by her influence, she so fortunately
established in offices of power and emolument, that they
flourished for several generations among the grandees of
that petty but splendid principality.
The poet's mother, Madonna Daria, belonged to a
branch of the Malegucci, one of the wealthiest and no-
blest families in the north of Italy. Nicolo Ariosto,
his father, held various places of trust and authority
under the dukes of Ferrara. In youth he had been the
companion of Borso, and steward of the household of
Hercules, besides being occasionally employed on em-
bassies to the pope and the king of France ; in which
he is said to have received more substantial recompence
than barren dignities, in ample official salaries, and rich
presents for special services. At the birth of the poet
he was governor of the castle and territory of Reggio,
and afterwards advanced to those of Modena ; but as
emolument came easily, and there were abundant tempt-
ations, besides heavy family expenses, to spend it la-
vishly, wealth never accumulated in his hands: wherefore,
having nine younger children born to him, his views
with respect to the eldest, Ludovico, were prudently
directed towards establishing him in some profession,
whereby he might acquire riches and rank for himself
by perseverance in honourable labour. At the age of
fourteen or fifteen years, — when he had already signal-
ARIOSTO. 197
ised himself by composing a drama on the story of
Pyramus and Thisbe, which was performed by his little
brothers and sisters, — no doubt as happily as the same
subject in the Midsummer Night's Dream (whenever
that happened) was enacted by Bottom the weaver and
his comrades, or, rather, as happily as Oberon, Titania,
and their train could have done it in fairy-land, — the
young poet was sent, grievously against his will, to study
civil law at Padua under two eminent practitioners,
Angelo Castrinse and II Maino. With them, like Ovid,
Petrarch, Tasso, Marino, or our own Milton and Cow-
per, he spent five years to little profit, hating his pro-
fession, and studying so listlessly, that it became more
and more manifest, the longer he drawled at it, that he
never would excel in the strife of words and tourna-
ments of tongues, by which the ample fortunes and
broad lands of many families, whose founders the gods
had fortunately not made poetical, were then, as now,
like the prizes at hardier exercises, acquired. Nicolo
Ariosto, therefore, at length abandoned the folly of
spoiling a good poet to make a bad lawyer, and per-
mitted his son to return to those learned studies and
exercises of native talent, which had been either sus-
pended, or indulged in by stealth, after his parent, " with
spears and lances," had driven him from them into the
toils of pleadings and precedents. Released from these
trammels, (strewed as they were to his loathing eye with
the mangled remains of causes, like cobwebs with sculls,
wings, and fragments of flies,) Ludovico, at the age of
twenty, found himself free to expatiate in that fields of
classic literature, whose buried treasures, in his age,
continued still to be dug up and brought to light from
time to time; or to roam abroad seeking adventures
suited to his youthful imagination, in the wilds of French
and Spanish romance, then recently thrown open to their
countrymen by Pulci and Boiardo.
However enriched his mind in earlier youth might
have been with knowledge of the dead languages — and
we are required to believe that he had made a very
o 3
198 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN".
promising Latin oration while he was a mere boy —
he found, on returning to them., that he had lost so
much as to need the help of a master to construe a fable
of JEsop. But what he lost at law, he recovered at
leisure, and added so much more to his stock, that he
speedily became eminent among his contemporaries (at
a time when Latin was more cultivated^ than Italian)
for the critical skill, or, more probably, the quickness of
apprehension and delicacy of taste, with which he ele-
cidated obscure passages in Horace and Ovid. These
appear to have been his favourite authors j and each of
them, in the sequel, he not a little resembled, in their
very dissimilar excellences. Under the tuition of Gre-
gorio da Spoleti, a scholar of high repute, whom he has
gratefully celebrated in the epistle to Bembo (Satire VI.),
he so far perfected himself in the language of ancient
Rome, that his verses in it were admired and com-
mended by the greatest adepts in that factitious style of
composition. It was the folly of the learned of that
age and the preceding, to make Latin the universal lan-
guage of writers who aimed at the honours of literature;
a scheme so preposterous, that none but the learned
could ever have stumbled upon it in their ignorance of
every thing but what the relics of ancient books could
teach them. To men of practical knowledge, it must
have occurred, that all the fragments of Roman authors
could, at the most, furnish a vocabulary comparatively
small, and utterly inadequate to meet the demands of
extending science, through new and ever-changing forms
of society. Under such a servitude as made the Roman
tongue itself pass under the Roman yoke, no phrase
unauthorised by classic precedent could be hazarded,
nor might a foreign word be engrafted upon the pure
stock without appearing a barbarism. Meanwhile the
very rhythm, accent, and pronunciation of the original
being lost, scholars in every country were obliged to
adapt these to the vernacular sounds of vowels and con-
sonants among themselves ; so that an Oxonian and a
Tuscan, though they might understand each other by
ARIOSTO. ] 99
the eye on paper, would be nearly unintelligible by the
ear and the living voice. It is manifest that nothing J
better than everlasting patchwork, of the same un-
changeable materials, how diversely soever combined
(like the patterns produced by the kaleidoscope, ever
variable, yet little distinguishable from another), would
have constituted the eloquence, poetry, and polite lite-
rature of modern Europe. No people would have suf- J
fered more than the Italians themselves, by employing
a defunct and unimproveable tongue, in which their
brightest geniuses must have been but secondary planets,
dimly reflecting, through a hazy atmosphere, the bor-
rowed beams of luminaries, themselves obscured by dis-
tance, as well as imperfectly seen from partial eclipses.
It would then have been the glory of Dante, Petrarch,
and Ariosto, to have written what Virgil, Cicero, and
Horace would have as little relished in diction as they
could have comprehended in substance, where things,
persons, customs, and arts, unexistent in their time,
were the burthen of every original theme. On the other
hand, equally simple, obvious, and beautiful, was the
only living use that could be made of the dead lan-
guages (beyond the profit and delight of studying them
in their surviving models) ; namely, that which time
has made of them by transmutation and transfusion into
modern tongues of such terms as were congenial to the
latter, or could be rendered so by being employed, first,
in technical or peculiar, and afterwards in elegant and
familiar senses, to obviate the necessity of inventing
new and inexpressive words, as the occasion of science
and taste required. The Italian, French, Spanish, and
English languages have thus been enriched and adorned
with classical interpolations, so gradually adopted, that
they seemed to grow naturally out of their respective
stocks, as the sphere of knowledge increased, and its
details became more multiform.
This golden age of Ariosto's life was shortened by
the death of his father ; who left to his eldest son, with
means exceedingly small, the responsibility of support-
o 4
200 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
ing his mother, and training up his nine brothers and
sisters. In the sixth of his Satires, — satires which are
almost wholly personal and autobiographic, — he says,
that on this occasion he was obliged, at four and twenty
years of age, to abandon Thalia, Euterpe, and all the
nine Muses ; to turn from quiet studies to active duties,
and exchange Homer for waste-books and ledgers,
(squarci e vacchette). These trusts, the young, ambi-
tious, fiery-minded poet faithfully and self-den yingly
fulfilled ; and he who, under parental injunction, at
the most docile period of life, would not submit to the
profitable drudgery of the law, now, in the very flower
and pride of his genius, with filial piety and fraternal
affection, yielded to a domestic yoke, and became the
father of his family. In this honourable character he
so well husbanded his narrow patrimony, that he por-
tioned off now one, then another sister, and provided
education for his four brothers, who, as they grew up,
entered into the service of sundry princes and nobles,
as was the custom with the minor gentry in that half-
feudal age. Gabriele cultivated literature,' and excelled
in the composition of Latin verse ; but, making Statius
his model, he was never worthy to compete, even in this
respect, with his more illustrious brother. Galasso en-
tered into the church, which was then the wealthy and
lavish patroness of those, who, by their subserviency to
her domination, or their able advocacy of it, sought the
good things of the present life under the guise of having
their affections fixed on higher, holier, and eternal
things. Yet the latter could hardly be said to be used
as a pretence for the purpose of deceiving; so lax,
shameless, mercenary, and ambitious was the hierarchy
of that age. Such profligacy, however, must not be laid
to the charge of Galasso, of whom nothing bad is known.
<l Galasso, in the city of Evander, is seeking a surplice
to put over his night-gown," says Ludovico in his second
Satire ; meaning, to obtain a bishop's robe and rochet —
to become a prelate or a canon. Alexander was of a
more enterprising disposition ; and delighting in foreign
ABIOSTO. 201
travel, he attached himself to the train of the cardinal
Hippolito d'Este, brother to Alfonso duke of Ferrara,
whom he accompanied into Hungary ; and, according to
his brother's description of that imperious patron's court,
appears to have fretted away his hour upon a stage of
artificial manners, dissipated pleasures, and emasculating
duties. Carlo, of whom nothing particular is recorded,
took up his abode in the kingdom of Naples, where he
died. These particulars are gathered chiefly from the
sixth Satire, with the additional intelligence, in the
second, that, at the time of writing it, the author had to
furnish a dowry to his fifth and last sister, then about to
be married. Though this must have been twenty years
after the death of their father, the mother was still
living with him. The allusion to her in the context
has often been quoted, but it is so simply and purely
beautiful, that it cannot be quoted amiss here. Ex-
cusing himself by many reasons for not going abroad ;
and having mentioned, in the foregoing lines, the dis-
persion of all the other members of the family from
their common home, except himself and her ; he says,
" L'eta di nostra madre mi percote
Di pieta il core, che da tutti, a un tratto,
Senza infamia lasciata esser non puote."
" Our mother's years with pity pierce my heart,
For, without infamy, she could not be
By all of us, at once, forsaken." Satire II.
But while Ariosto, from his twenty-fourth to his
forty. fifth year, was thus humbly, yet honourably,
nourishing his mother and training up his brothers and
sisters — though his studies were much interrupted at
first, and he was obliged to abandon the Greek language
altogether (which he had recently been recovering) — he
maintained his reputation among the first Latin scholars ;
and in the same busy interval achieved his greatest
triumph in the literature of his own land. Under the
voluntary burthen of domestic cares, the buoyancy of
irrepressible genius bore him up from obscurity ; and
whatever might have been the secret misgivings, or the
202 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
generous forecastings, of undeveloped but conscious
powers, he found himself, at nine and twenty years of
age, in the first circles of Italian society, courted, ad-
mired, applauded, and of course envied, both for his
conversation, his learning, and his poetry. In the
latter, indeed (judging by what remains), he seems to
have produced nothing but two or three indifferent
dramas, certain loose love elegies, with a few middling
sonnets and madrigals, — all fantastic and pleasant enough
in their way, but the best of them affording no great
promise that their writer would ere long surpass all
predecessors in one wide field of invention, and leave to
successors nothing to do in it but — not to imitate him :
so , late and slowly, often, are the most extraordinary
talents brought into exercise. It is difficult to imagine,
in our cold clime, with our refractory tongue, and ac-
customed as we are to the phlegm of our countrymen,
how such performances as the above could raise a man
to celebrity : but verse was not then the pastime of
every lover of verse ; and reputations were not so nume-
rous as they are in these days, when there are a thou-
sand avenues to the temple of fame not then opened, —
and quite as many out of it, — while candidates are
seen crowding in such throngs as to tread on one an-
other's heels, those behind forcing onward those in
front ; so that our literary ephemera resemble a pro-
cession of spectators through a palace, when a royal
corpse lies in state ; multitudes coming in, passing on,
going out continually, a few pausing, none stopping.
The Italian language, however, it must be observed,
for all the minor and more exquisite forms of verse, is
not less felicitously and inimitably adapted, than is the
French to the badinage of prose. Ariosto gained credit
for these bagatelles, in an age when Bembo, Molza, and
many others were his contemporaries, who, to this hour,
are chiefly known by such things, and nothing better.
But, for some reason or other which is not apparent,
Ariosto was certainly looked up to, and renowned by
anticipation, for a long contemplated achievement of
ARJOSTO. 203
equal daring to any of the knights' adventures which in
due course he celebrated, and which proved not less
successful in the issue than his own " Astolpho's
Journey to the Moon ;" for in this (the " Orlando Fu-
rioso)," the madness of his hero covered him with more
glory than the restoring of the Paladin's lost wits did the
rider of the hippogriff. Ariosto, indeed, was the very
Astolpho of song, and both his Paladins and their coun-
tries must be sought in the moon, or nowhere.
He was, during the greater portion of this eventful
period of his life, in the service of cardinal Hippolito
d'Este, who affected to be a Maecenas, and who, at least
as much from vanity and ostentation as from genuine
taste or delight in their compositions, assembled round
him the prime scholars and wits of the age. By some
of his biographers, the poet is said to have received
munificent proofs that the princely ecclesiastic knew
how to value the endowments of the Muses more than
personages of his rank are wont to do. But this seems
very questionable, from the poet's own account of his
patron's bounty in his second Satire, which may be
noticed hereafter. Leisure and competence, however,
he must have enjoyed during this irksome and almost
menial servitude, under which, with all its debasements,
heproducedhis "Orlando Furioso." Having commenced
the poem, he communicated the specimen and plan to
his friend cardinal Bembo, who, influenced by the pe-
dantic prejudice formerly alluded to, seriously advised
him to compose it in Latin ; a language in which,
with all the mastery that a modern could attain over it,
the licentious fables of chivalry — licentious in every
sense, in diction, sentiment, plot, narrative, and morals, —
would have appeared as heterogeneous and outlandish as
the wrath of Achilles in Chinese, or the piety of ./Eneas
in Sanscrit. Mr. Roscoe says of Sanazzaro and Bembo,
who were brother rivals for the honours of Parnassus,
that while the former " turned all his talents for the im-
provement of Latin poesy, the latter persevered in culti-
204 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
vating his native tongue."* Most people can give better
advice than they take : Bembo, it seems, took better than
he gave ; and Ariosto had sagacity enough to follow his
counsellor's example rather than his precept, nobly an-
| swering, " I would rather stand among the first of
; writers in my own tongue, than below Ovid or Virgil
| himself in theirs."
This task, therefore, for fifteen years, he pursued,
J with occasional external interruptions, but none proba-
bly from within ; for, his mind being impregnated
with the. great conception, he could not help brooding
over it by day and by night, amidst business and plea-
sure, in crowds and in solitude, at Rome as ambassador
from the duke to the pope, and at Ferrara as a courtier
in the palace of cardinal Hippolito; but especially at
his birth-place, Reggio, in the retirement of a villa
belonging to one of his maternal relatives, Sigismondo
Malegucci. Here, in one of the chambers of an ancient
J tower within the domain, he elaborated canto after canto
of that most anomalous yet impressive poem, which,
while it appears as unconnected as a tissue of dreams
in its details, (as it resembles the stuff which dreams are
made of in its materials,) is nevertheless one of the most
perfect webs of narrative that fancy ever spun, or genius
wove, from the silkworm produce of a poet's brain.
J No rival composition of the same or any other class of
' heroic verse has yet proved equally attractive to Italian
readers in every rank of life ; though, in the ff Gerusa-
lemme Liberata" of Tasso, consummate skill and genius
of the highest order have constructed an epic according
to the strictest rules of art, to conciliate the learned, and
at the same time embellished it with all the graces of
romance, to charm the multitude, who love to be pleased,
because they cannot help it, and care not by what means,
so that these be but " rich and strange."
Meanwhile the duke of Ferrara, wishing to pacify
J the wrath of Julius*!!., who threatened him not only
with the thunders of the Vatican (which were no im-
" History of Leo X. vol. L p. 9L 4to.
ARIOSTO. 205
potent artillery in those days), but with (c force and
arms," in the strongest sense of the legal verbiage, so
terribly illustrated in appeals to the sword ; it is no
small proof of the ability and address in worldly affairs
of one who lived amidst a creation of ideals of his own
rearing, that Ariosto was despatched as ambassador to
Rome on this occasion. Though in the sequel he did
not effect his purpose of appeasing the ferocious pontiff,
yet, by his eloquence, he persuaded him to feign a
milder mood, and send an answer whicli meant less
favour than the words seemed to imply. For soon
afterwards, Julius, who had set his heart upon adding
Ferrara to the ecclesiastical states, entered into a league
with the Venetians, who coveted Padua as the quarter
adjacent to their territories ; and, while his holiness
furnished an army, the doge sent a fleet up the Po, to
attack the capital of Alfonso at once by land and by
water. The papal forces, however, were defeated at
the battle of Ravenna, and the republican squadron
was beaten, dispersed, or captured on the river. On
this occasion, Ariosto, unlike Horace (his master in
verse, but not in arms), fought gallantly, and made
prize of one of the enemy's richest vessels, laden with
military stores. This appears to be authenticated, though
he himself never alludes to the circumstance in his
Satires (when he is boasting of his services, and mur-
muring at their ill requital), and notwithstanding his
reputed timidity on the water. At the same time, the
proof usually given of the latter, it must be allowed,
is too equivocal to establish the fact ; namely, that
when he had occasion to disembark, he would pertina-
ciously wait till every body else had landed, before he
would venture to descend from the deck, using the
phrase, " de puppe novissimus exi :" but the coolest
captain, when his ship is wrecked or foundering, makes
it a point of honour and duty to be the last to abandon
it. He is likewise said to have been as indifferent a
horseman, as good seamen often are (though he was
none), riding slowly and cautiously, and alighting on
206
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
the least appearance of peril or inconvenience in his
way. Personally a coward he may have been, but
mentally courageous he undoubtedly was : there is no
deficiency of spirit traceable in his conduct on some
trying occasions,, any more than there is in his verses
at any time. Indeed, one who had not the keenest
intellectual delight in the boldest enterprises, the most
appalling dangers, and difficulties insurmountable except
by magic intervention, would hardly have written " Or-
lando Furioso ;" for in no work of imagination does the
author more effectually dispossess himself of himself,
and become for the time being the knight or the giant
whose exploits he is celebrating.
After his victories, Alfonso, still anxious to conciliate
the pope, proposed a second embassy to Rome ; but
none of his other diplomatists being willing to hazard
themselves in the presence of the fiery Julius, Ariosto
was again induced to accept the charge, — no mean proof
of constitutional intrepidity, or else an ascendancy of mind
over nerves which few philosophers have attained. Ac-
cordingly he set out ; but (as he tells us himself in one
of his Satires) after escaping all the hazards of the way,
every where infested by brigands in those troublous
times, he met with so uncourteous a reception from the
chafed pontiff, that he was glad to escape as quietly and
secretly as he could, having received information that,
as Alfonso's proxy, he ran no small risk of being treated
as the holy father would have been happy to have
treated his master, had he presented himself at the
Vatican. Indeed, Julius is said to have openly threat-
ened to throw the poet into the sea, if he did not make
his way back as speedily as he might ; a hint of which
Ariosto promptly availed himself, not presuming to en-
tertain a hope, had he been cast upon the mercy of the
waves, that he should have the good fortune of Arion,
to charm the dolphins with his minstrelsy, after finding
that the sacred laurel, which even the lightning spares *,
* The lightning did not spare the laurelled bust of Ariosto, on his monu-
ment at Ferrara, some years ago ; for the wreath (being of iron) was
ARIOSTO. 207
"\
could not make his head inviolable at Rome, j Alfonso
himself, in one of his fruitless negotiations with the
implacable Julius, being at Rome, and under safe con-
duct, was so alarmed by the perfidious treatment which
he experienced from the pontiff (who in the mean time,
during a truce, had seized Reggio, and demanded Fer-
rara in exchange for his unjust capture), that he deemed
it prudent to make his retreat in the various disguises
of a huntsman, a livery servant, and a friar, under the
protection of the family of Colonna, who by force res-
cued him from state-confinement in the Vatican, under
the abused name of hospitality.
But the duke retaliated in a singular manner for the
indignity shown to himself and his representative. The
French having taken Bologna, a superb bronze statue
of the military pope, by Michel Angelo, was pulled
down from its pedestal, and dragged by the populace
through the mire about the city, after which it was
sent as a present to Alfonso. The indignant duke (a
reckless barbarian in this instance), showing as little
respect for the exquisite workmanship of the sculptor
as he felt for the piety of the pope, with a felicity of
revenge almost to be forgiven for its appropriateness,
ordered the rich metal to be sent to the furnace, and
re-cast into a cannon, to which he gave the name of
Julio. The head, however, was spared, and placed
as a trophy in the state museum. Julius never forgave
the duke, either for the fault of his ancestors in be-
queathing to him a territory which the see of Rome
coveted, or for his own sin in defending that territory
so successfully against both spiritual and secular vio-
lence, that he himself (the greatest warrior who ever
wore the triple crown) could not wrest it from him.
The disappointed pope expired, exclaiming, in his deli-
rium, " Out of Italy, ye French I Out, Alfonso of
Este!"*
struck off from the marble temples by a flash, which entered the church
during a thunderstorm.
* " At Bologna, Michel Angelo erected, in front of the church of St
208 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
The first edition of the " Orlando Furioso" appeared
in 1 515, eleven years after its commencement ; a second
and third, highly improved, followed in the course of
six jjears ; and the last from his hand, in 1532, the year
of the poet's death. In each succeeding reprint, so many
and such large amendments, exclusions, and variations
of the original text were adopted, that the example has
been very properly held up to young writers as worthy
of their diligent imitation — never to think their best
performances perfect while a touch is wanting which
they can give to heighten their beauty, or a blemish
remaining to lower it, which they can remove. In fact,
Ariosto ceased not to elaborate his apparently completed
work to the latest period of his life. Long after it had
attained its full standard of bulk, this sole tree of
his fancy continued to flourish, by the perpetuation of
the same process which had reared it, putting forth
fairer leaves and richer fruit, in perennial course, till
the failure of further supply, from his own decay, left
it to survive him in imperishable maturity. The prin-
cipal interrruptions of his literary labours seem to
have been the necessary dissipation of mind during the
aforementioned unfortunate embassies to Rome, his
brief government of the disturbed province of Graffa-
gnana, and occasional fits of silence which came upon
him when his heart was wrung and his pride wounded
by the inconsiderate neglect or the more flagrant in-
gratitude of mean-spirited patrons. Of the latter, car-
dinal Hippolito was the chief; and the cause of their
mutual estrangement was the refusal of the poet to
/ Petronio, a statue of Julius II. in bronze, which he is said to have exe-
• cuted so as to express, in the most energetic manner, those qualities for
which he was distinguished ; giving grandeur and majesty to his person,
and courage, promptitude, and ferociousness to his countenance, while
even the drapery was remarkable for the boldness and magnificence of its
folds. When Julius saw the model, and observed the vigour of the atti-
tude, and the energy with which the right arm was extended, he enquired
from the artist, whether he meant to represent him as dispensing his bene-
diction or his curse. Michel Angelo prudently replied, that he meant to
represent him in the act of admonishing the citizens of Bologna. In re-
turn, the artist requested to know from his holiness, whether he would
have a book in his hand. ' No,' replied Julius ; ' give me a sword, I am no
- scholar.' " — Roscoe's Leo X. vol. iv. p. 306. 4to edition.
ARIOSTO. 209
accompany the haughty priest as one of his retinue on
a journey to Hungary to visit his archbishopric of Se-
govia, which had been bestowed upon him when he
was not more than eighteen years old, by king Matteo
Corvino, whose queen Beatrice was sister to Leonora of
Aragon, Hippolito's mother. This spoiled child of for-
tune was not only cardinal, priest, statesman, and war-
rior (in each of which characters he greatly signalised
himself, according to the lax notions of .morality then
prevalent) ; but in one instance, at least, he was a
lover also, and a rejected one, who wreaked upon his
favoured rival a revenge which has made his memory
infamous. It appears that Hijjpolito, and his illegi-
timate brother don Giulio, both paid their addresses
(dishonourable ones they must have been on the car-
dinal's part) to a lady of Ferrara, of singularly attrac-
tive accomplishments, who (if marriage were the
question to be decided by the courtship of either), it
may be presumed, very naturally preferred him with
whom a virtuous alliance might be formed. Hippolito,
pressing her one day to acknowledge the ground of her
preference, she laid the blame of her love on Giulio's
beautiful eyes. The cardinal secretly determined to dis-
solve that charm ; and soon after, accompanying his bro-
ther on the chase, in a solitary situation, he led him
into an ambush of assassins, who sprang upon the un-
suspecting youth, dragged him from his horse, and tore
out his eyes, while Hippolito stood by, directing the
operation, and exulting in the extinction of those fatal
luminaries that stood in his light. Guicciardini, indeed,
says, that though Giulio's eyes were plucked out (tratti)
by the cardinal, they were replaced, without the loss of
sight (riposti senza perdita del lume nel luogo loro), by
the prompt and careful skill of the chirurgeons. Be
this as it might, the man concerning whom such a story
could be told, and believed by contemporaries, must
have had a character for cruelty and selfishness, which
renders probable the arrogance, vindictiveness, and
VOL. i. p
210 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
tyranny towards his dependents, of which Ariosto so
bitterly, yet so humbly and playfully, complains in his
Satires, whenever he alludes to his connection with Hip-
polito. The magnanimous conduct of Alfonso towards
the same unfortunate youth was strikingly contrasted
with the treachery and barbarity of Hippolito : for the
duke not punishing the cardinal or his accomplices for
this outrage, Giulio and his brother Ferdinand con-
spired against his life. The plot was discovered ; and
the brothers, having confessed their criminal purpose,
were adjudged to lose Ntheir heads on the scaffold ; but
while the axe was suspended over them, their sentence
was changed into one of perpetual imprisonment. Fer-
dinand, after suffering this for thirty years, died ; but
Giulio, at the expiration of fifty-two years, was set at
liberty.*
The poet was, no doubt, proud of his own ancient
blood, and jealous of his personal independence, while
he coveted that leisure for the pursuits of literature, on
which the felicity of his existence, and the glory of his
name, in a great measure depended ; feelings little un-
derstood or little regarded by superficial grandees,
whether in church or state, in respect to those over
whom they held authority or influence. A poet, more
than any other man, lives within himself ; and to do
this he must have freedom, ease, and competence, how-
ever small : nor is it less for the benefit of others that
he should enjoy these necessaries of literary life ; since
they are to reap the harvest of his hermit-thoughts,
sown in secret and cherished in solitude, till they
grow into beauty, like plants undistinguished till their
blossoms appear, or till they shine through obscurity
like stars that come out between light and darkness,
because they can no longer be hidden. To writers of
every other class, valuable as self-searching, self-know-
ledge, and self-gratification may be, for their various
exercises and undertakings, they draw or collect the
* Leo X. vol. ii. p. 52.
ARIOSTO. 211
greater portion of their materials for study and com-
position from their converse with ordinary and public
affairs, the records of the dead or the living, past or
contemporary characters, manners, and events. The
historian, the moralist, or the philosopher, may please
and profit his own generation, and bequeath intellectual
stores of wealth to posterity, by representing the images,
tastes, and employments of his own times ; but the
poet, the perpetual poet, he who alone is a poet in the
highest sense, whatever be his theme, and how similar
soever his materials may be to those of others, must
mould his subject according to the archetypes in his
own mind, and yet cause such an universal and undy-
ing spirit to pervade it, as shall by sympathy make his
thoughts understood and enjoyed in all ages and
countries, among all people who can read his lan-
guage.*
Hippolito, praised as he has been for his patronage
of letters and arts, and poetically canonised by Ariosto
himself, throughout the ef Orlando Furioso," in strains
as unworthy of his genius as they were unmerited by
the hero of it, seems to have been a jackdaw patron, who
loved to prank himself with the peacock-feathers of court-
poets, and strut before them, well plucked, in his train.
It is clear that he very in differently appreciated those
talents which were the admiration of all Italy, and as
little understood the temper of their possessor. The
* Ariosto seems to have had a horror of travelling under any circum-
stances : —
" Men's tastes are various : one prefers the church,
The camp another ; this his native soil,
That foreign countries ; as for me, who will
May travel to and fro, to visit France,
Spain, England, Hungary ; but I love home.
Lombardy, Rome, and Florence I have seen ;
The mountains that divide, and those that gird,
Fair Italy, and either sea that bathes her ;
This is enough for me. Without expense
Of innkeepers, I roam with Ptolemy
O'er all the world beside, in peace or war;
I sail on every sea, nor make vain vows
When lightnings flash, for, safe, along the chart,
I see more lands than from the reeling deck." Satire IV.
p 2
212 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
proud cardinal scarcely rated them any higher than in-
asmuch as they afforded him the insolent gratification
of saying (to exalt himself ) that such rare endowments
belonged to one of the creatures whom he affected to
keep about him, who would fetch and carry for their
patron, while they dare not call their souls their own —
if souls they had, who could sell them for the luxury of
eating toads, with pleasant countenances, in the great
man's presence, and deserving the contempt with which
they were treated by submitting to it. To the honour
of Ariosto he was not one of this reptile species, though
his narrow circumstances through life compelled him to
eat bitter bread at tables where he would have loved to
sit, if he could have found a place there otherwise than
as a dependant. In his second satire he expatiates on the
degradation of that bondage, from which his own high
spirit, and the cardinal's mean one, had freed him.
Writing to his brother Alessandro, who had followed
his highness into Hungary, he inquires whether the
latter ever names him, or alludes to his pertinacity in
remaining behind : he then breaks into indignant com-
plaints against the cardinal's courtiers, for misrepresenting
the motives of his conduct : — " Oh ! ye, profoundly
learned in adulation ! the art which you most cultivate
and study still countenances him to blame me beyond
measure. Mad is the man who dares to contradict his
master, even though he say that he has seen the stars
at noon, the sun at midnight. When he commends
or censures, every voice, on either hand, is heard with
one accord approving ; and if there be a solitary one
that has not hardihood, from downright baseness, to open
a mouth, with his whole visage he applauds, and every
feature says, — ' I too agree with that.' " The writer
proceeds to recapitulate the reasons, " many and true,'*
•which he had stated to the cardinal himself, face to
face, without disguise, why he should stay at home.
Several of these are whimsical enough, but they show
the humour of the man ; and may be comprised thus
summarily : —
ARIOSTO. 213
" I have no wish to make my life shorter than for-
tune and my stars shall please. Now every change,
however slight, would aggravate my malady (an inve-
terate asthma), and I should either die of it, or my two
physicians are mistaken. But over and above what
they may say, I understand my own case best, and what
is good and what is bad for me. My constitution ill
endures hard winters, and theirs beneath the pole
(Hungary beneath the pole ! the poet was always a
strange geographer, but here he is playing) are more
intense than ours in Italy. And if the cold should not
blast me, the heat would, from stoves which I abomi-
nate so much, that I shun them more than the plague.
Besides all this, the folks so dress, and eat and drink,
and play ; in short, do every thing but sleep, in that
strange land in winter, that, were I forced to gulp the
air, so difficult to breathe, from the Riphean mountains,
what with the vapours arising from my stomach, and
the rheum falling on my lungs, 1 certainly should die
some night of suffocation. Then heady wines, which
are prohibited to me as mortal poison, are by the guests
swilled down in monstrous draughts, for not to drink
much and undiluted is sacrilege there. All their food
too is high seasoned with pepper and spices, which my
doctor condemns as pernicious for me. Here you may
say, that 1 might sit down below stairs in a snug chim-
ney corner, far from the ill savour of the company,
where the cook would prepare my victuals to my own
liking, and I might water my wine at my will, and
drink little or none at all. What ! while you are all
well and feasting above, must I sit from morning till
night alone in my cell, alone at my board, like a Car-
thusian ? Then pots and pans for kitchen and cham-
ber would be wanted, and I must have a dower of
household furniture settled on me like a new married
bride. Supposing, nevertheless, that master Pasquin,
the cook, were pleased to dress dinner for me apart ;
once or twice he might do it, but assuredly the fourth
p 3
214 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
or sixth time, he would set all his face in arms against
me ( mi far a 7 viso delV arme). * * * * You will
reply, ' begin housekeeping then in your own way, at
your own expense; your footman may be your caterer,,
and you can cook and eat your pullets at your own fire-
side ! ' — Mighty well ! but by my unlucky servitude
under the cardinal, I have not got enough to set up an
hotel for myself in his palace. And thanks to thee,
Apollo ! thanks to you, ye sacred college of the Muses !
from youi bounty I have not received so much as would
buy me a cloak. ' Oh, but your patron has given you
something ! '* — I grant it ; something more than
would buy me a cloak ; but that it was given me for
your sake, I don't believe. He has said, and I am free
to tell it to every body, that I may put my verses
(there is an untranslatable quibble in the original) where
I like. His praises composed by me are not the kind
of services which he deems worthy of recompence ; he
doles out his rewards to those who ride post for him,
follow him in the park and the city ; who don and doff
his clothes, and put his wine flasks in the well that they
may be cool at the nones ; he recompenses those who
watch for him at nights, till the smiths rise in the morn-
ing to make nails, so that they often fall asleep with the
torches burning in their hands. When I have made
verses in honour of him. he says, I have done so for my
own pleasure and idleness ; whereas it would be far
more agreeable to him to have me about his own per-
son." After further complaints against his patron,
scorn of that patron's flatterers, and vindication of him-
self for not being one of these, the angry poet exclaims,
" What could I do in such a case ? I have no skill to
shoot partridges flying ; nor to hold a hawk or a grey-
hound in leash. Let lads learn such arts, who wish to
practise them. Nor can I conveniently stoop to draw
on or pull off his boots and spurs, seeing I am somewhat
tall. I have not much taste for victuals, and as for
* Apollo and the Muses are supposed to speak here, and Ariosto replies
to them.
ARIOSTO. 215
carving, I might very well have served that office in
the age of the world when men fed on acorns. I would
not choose to superintend Gismondi's* housekeeping
accounts, nor does it fall to my lot to gallop again to
Rome to appease the fury of the second Julius ; but
even if it did, at my time of life, with this cough,
which I probably caught on such an occasion, it does not
suit me any longer to run about the streets. If then
to perform such drudgery, and seldom to go out of his
presence, but stand there like Bootes by the Great Bear,
— if this be required of the man who thirsts for gold,
rather than enrich myself thus, I choose repose ; repose,
rather than to occupy myself with cares for which my
studies must be abandoned and plunged into Lethe, —
studies that do not, indeed, furnish pasture for the body,
but feast the mind with food so noble that they deserve
not to be neglected. And thus they do for me, — they
make poverty less painful, and wealth to be so little
desired, that for the love of it I will not part with my
freedom : they cause me not to want that which I hope
not to obtain ; and that neither envy nor spleen consume
me when my lord invites Celio and Marone, while I
cannot expect to be seen at supper with his highness at
Midsummer ; amidst a blaze of torches, blinded Avith
their smoke. Here I walk alone and on foot wherever
I please, and when I choose to ride, I throw my saddle
bags over my horse's back and mount : and this I hold
to be a lesser sin than taking a bribe to recommend the
cause of a vassal to the prince ; or harassing a parish
by iniquitous lawsuits, till the people offer pensions to
stay proceedings. Wherefore I lift up both hands to
heaven, and pray, that either among citizens or country-
men, I may live in peace under my own roof, and that
by means of my small patrimony, I may be enabled to
spend the remainder of my days without learning a
new craft, or making my family blush for me." In
* The cardinal's steward.
p 4
216 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
the sequel of the epistle, the relenting poet (a freeman
at heart, a slave by court habit) condescends to make
an offer of certain honorary services which he could
render to the cardinal at home (not having " felt himself
so stout and nimble as to leap from the banks of the Po to
those of the Danube"), but before he has well con-
cluded his humiliating overture, the exasperation, of
which neither scorn, philosophy, nor poetic pride could
rid his wounded spirit,, returns like an access of disease
upon him, and he breaks out into a rhodomontade of
defiance. In this passage it is hard to know whether
the unhappy writer be most entitled to pity, censure,
or admiration : pity for unmerited harshness from his
patron ; censure for a manifest hankering towards sy-
cophancy ; and admiration for his magnanimous resolve,
at any rate, to choose freedom and penury rather than
abundance and bondage. " If," he says, " for a bene-
fice bestowed on me of five and twenty crowns every
four months (yet not so well secured but that they are
often litigated), his highness has a right to make me
wear a chain, hold me as a bondman, and oblige me
to sweat and tremble before him, without any regard,
till I break down and die, — let him not imagine such a
thing, but tell him plainly that, rather than be a slave,
I will bear poverty in patience." He goes on : —
" An ass, all bones and gristle with hard fare,
Entering a granary through a broken wall,
Made such enormous havoc with the corn,
That his thin flanks were rounded like a tun,
And he had had enough, — which was not soon.
Then, fearing lest his hide must pay the cost,
He struggled to get back the way he came,
But found the chink too narrow now to let him.
Thus, while he fretted, pushed, and squeez'd in vain,
A rat addressed him : ' Sir, it' you would pass,
You must make friends with that great paunch of yours ;
Behoves you to disgorge what you have swallow'd,
And e'en grow lean again, or never hope
To thread the needle's eye of that small hole.'
— So, in conclusion, if his Eminence
Imagines he has bought me with his gifts,
*T will be no hard or bitter thing to me
Straight to return them, and reclaim my freedom."
To aggravate the poet's misfortune, about this time,
or, in the words of his first English translator, sir John
ARIOSTO. 217
Harrington, " to mend the matter, one taking occasion
of this eclipse of the cardinal's favour put him in suit
for a piece of land of his ancient inheritance, which
was not only a great vexation to his mind, but a charge
to his purse and travail to his body ; for undoubtedly
the clattering of armour, the noise of great ordnance,
the sound of the trumpet and drum, and the neighing
of horses, do not so much trouble the sweet Muses, as
the brabbling of lawyers, the pattering of attorneys, and
the civil war, or rather most uncivil disagreeing, of fore-
sworn jurors/'
After the death of Hippolito, who was never recon-
ciled to him, Ariosto was persuaded to enter into the
service of the cardinal's brother, Ajfonso the duke, who,
if he neither exalted nor enriched the poet greatly,
honoured him for his genius, delighted in his society,
and enabled him to build a house to his own fancy in
the midst of an ample garden. This gave him an op-
portunity of indulging in one of his peculiar tastes, in
which, however, it was not easy to please himself, for
the pleasure rather consisted in trying to do so by
modelling and remodelling, and making experiment
after experiment on whatever he had in hand. Thus
his mansion was constructed by piecemeal, pulled down
in like manner, enlarged, reduced, amended over and
over again before he permitted it to stand, or deemed it
worthy of the following quaint inscription, which he
placed over the entrance : —
" Parva sed apta mihi, sed nulli obnoxia, sed non
t Sordida, parta meo scd tainen sere domus."
" 'T is small but fit for me, gives none offence,
Not mean, yet builded at my own expense."
" A verse," says sir John Harrington, with an em-
phasis as though he spoke from experience, " which
few of the builders of this latter day could truly write,
or, at least, if they could, I would lay that their houses
were strongly built, indeed, for more than the third
heir." When asked by a friend how it happened that
218 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
he who,, in " building the lofty rhyme/' had reared so
many superb palaces, could submit to dwell under so
humble a roof, he very ingenuously replied, <f Words are
sooner put together than bricks and mortar." Yet in
constructing his verse he was equally fastidious ; no
poet probably ever bestowed more patience and pains in
weighing syllables, collocating sounds, balancing periods,
and adjusting the nicest points that bore upon the har-
mony, splendour, or fluency of his compositions ; yet it
is the charm of his style that the whole seems as natural
as if the thoughts had told themselves in their own
words. In stocking his garden, and, training his
flowers, Ariosto is said to have been not less fickle and
capricious than in framing his habitation and adapting
his poetical numbers ; but with far less felicity ; for,
like a child impatient to witness the growth of his
plants, he would pull them up from time to time to see
how the roots were thriving below ground, as well as
how they shot upwards. This plan, however it might
suit masonry to practise on dead materials, or poetry to
weave and disentangle rhythmical cadences, was ill
adapted to gardening.
It was still, however, and to his life's end, the mis-
fortune of Ariosto to struggle against the solicitudes,
discomforts, and mortifications of narrow and precarious
circumstances. His own family were long dependent
upon him for entire subsistence, or occasional aid ; yet
he seems to have kept his inheritance, small as it was,
unimpaired, otherwise he could not have looked to it as
a last resource, when courtly favour, whether of prelate
or prince, should be withdrawn. What regular sti-
pends he might receive for his services from Hippolito
and Alfonso, is nowhere recorded, beyond the five and
twenty crowns every four months, bestowed by the
former, when he could get them, by fair means or foul,
from those who were to pay them ; and according to
some of his biographers, withdrawn from him by his
patron, after their quarrel. But it appears that he en-
joyed the revenues of some ecclesiastical benefices,
ARIOSTO. 219
though not in priest's orders, and that, though not
married, he had two sons, whom he educated liherally.
In his third satire, he assigns a very equivocal reason
for this not very equivocal conduct ; for who will pre-
tend that both circumstances were not greatly to his dis-
credit, though countenanced in simony and licentiousness
by the shameless practices of many of his most honour-
able contemporaries : — " 1 will not take orders, because
then I can never take a wife ; I will not take a wife
because then I can never take orders, and I am shy of
tying a knot, which, if I repent, I cannot loose." From
popes, cardinals, and princes, both native and foreign,
he is said to have received large gifts, in return for
copies of his poems, and in compliment to those rare
talents, by which he furnished the most popular, as
well as the most fashionable reading of all who spoke
the Italian tongue, or understood it : yet few of these
are so authenticated as to confer unquestionable credit
on the presumed donors.
Among Ariosto's patrons, next to Hippolito, Pope
Leo X. seems to have most excited and most disap-
pointed his reasonable expectations, not to call them his
positive claims ; for in some instances at least, where
promises have been made to the hope, the iniquity of
breaking them to the heart is only not felony, because
the law cannot punish it. It is said by one (Gabriele
Simeoni in his Satire on Avarice), that " to Leo, the light
and mirror of courtesy, we are primarily indebted for
the pleasure of hearkening to the lays of Ariosto, that
pontiff having given him several hundred crowns to per-
fect his work." Another apocryphal authority affirms,
that pope Leo X. issued a bull in favour of the " Orlando
Furioso," denouncing excommunication against any one
who should presume to censure its poetry or its morals.
This has been explained into a mere matter of form, •
namely, a licence to print and publish the work, with a
denunciation against those who should defraud the
author of the lawful profits arising from the sale ; — a
licence, by the way, of little value; since we have learned
220 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
already from himself, long after the publication of the
poem, that from " Apollo and the sacred college of the
Muses/' — a palpable hit at the pope and the sacred col-
lege of cardinals, against whom he seldom spares a
stroke of raillery, — he never received so much as would
buy him a cloak. A bull of some kind or other was
granted to him by Leo, according to his own confession
in Satire VII. ; but if that which is once well done is
twice done, that which is only half done must be next to
nothing : he received only a moiety of the sum raised by
it, which seems to have been as little productive as some of
our church briefs, or those letters of royal licence to beg,
which have been granted in this country to recompense
learned men for their labours, as in the case of Stow
the antiquary. Paulo Rolli, himself a poet of no mean
rank (who translated " Paradise Lost" into Italian), in
his note on a passage in the sixth Satire, says that Leo,
" otherwise the great friend of the learned, did not pro-
mote Ariosto, because his holiness inherited from Julius
II. implacable hatred against Alfonso duke of Ferrara,
and a greedy desire to possess that city. It did not,
therefore, agree with his policy to give Ariosto a car-
dinal's hat, because, being a subject of Alfonso's, the poet
would not only do no wrong to the duke ; but, on the
contrary, honoured as he was by his sovereign, he would
employ all his influence to thwart the injurious designs
of the pontiff against the latter. What marvel., then,
that Leo, like mighty men in every age, should prefer
his own ambition to the great friendship and esteem in
which he held Ariosto ; since ambition, when united
with personal interest, swallows up all other passions !"
But what claims had Ariosto on the bounty of Leo X.?
The fact is certain, that, previous to the elevation of
Giovanni de' Medici, under that name, to the papal
chair (not in prosperity only, but in exile and captivity
after the battle of Ravenna), Ariosto had been on terms
of the most cordial intimacy that can be supposed to
have subsisted between persons so unequally circum-
stanced with regard to birth, but having in common
ARIOSTO. 221
one passionate attachment to elegant literature. In
Ariosto this was supreme, in Leo it was only secondary ; J
hence the heartless ingratitude of the priest on the one
hand, and the wormwood and gall of chagrin, that ex-
asperated the poet on the other. But his own authority
on the subject is the best ; and if not the most correct,
it has the merit of being the most amusing represent-
ation of the game of self-delusion at which both played
and both lost (the one his honour, and the other his
reward) ; for there is no reason to doubt of Giovanni [
de' Medici's affection towards his friend, and his purpose
to serve him being as sincere — till he had the means of
doing so — as the poet's hopes were natural and ingenuous. •
Time has avenged the injured party, and Ariosto's
fourth Satire adds little to the glory of the golden days J
of Leo. While the latter was a whelp, he fondled his
playmate the spaniel ; when he came to lion's estate, he
had too many foxes and wolves about his den to care
for his former companion. ee Until the time" when he !
went to Rome to be made lion * (Leo), I was always
agreeable to him, and apparently he loved few persons
more than me. Often hath he said, when he was legate
and in Florence, that if need were, he would make no
difference between me and his own brother. Hence
some might imagine, that being at Rome, it would have
been easy for me to have slipt my head out of a black
hood into a green one. I answer those who may think
so with an example ; read it, for it will cost you less
to read than me to write." •
This, as well as some former and following extracts
from the Satires, are given, for variety's sake, in slip-
shod verse : —
" The ground, one summer, was so parch 'd with drought,
Itseem'd as though Apollo had resign'd
His horses' reins to Phaeton again :
Dry every well, and every fountain dry ;
* " E fin ch'a Roma s'andb a far leone." Satire JV.
" a crearlo
Leon d' umile agneL" Satire VIL
222 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Lakes, streams, and rivers most renown'd, might then
Be forded without bridges.
" In that time,
There lived a pastor, rich 1 do not say,
Nor overstock'd with herds and woolly flocks,
Who, among others, press'd by want of water,
And having search'd in vain through every cave,
Turn'd to that Lord who never disappoints
The man that trusts in him ; — and light was given,
And inspiration to his heart, that he,
Far thence, should in a valley's bottom find
The long-desired supply.
" Off, with his wife,
Children, and all that in the world he had,
He hasten 'd thither, and with spade and mattock
Delved to the spring, — nor had he deep to dig.
But having nothing wherewithal to draw,
Save one scant narrow pitcher, thus he spake :
. ' Let none take dudgeon, if the earliest draught
Be for myself; the second for my dame ;
And 't is but right my children have the third,
The fourth, and on, till all have slaked their thirst j
Then, one by one, I will the rest should drink,
According to their work and labour done,
Who sunk the well ; to flocks and cattle next
Refreshment must be forth distributed,
First to the feeblest and the nearest death.'
" According to this equitable rule,
All came to drink ; while each, that he might not
Be last, made most of his small services.
This, a poorjmagpie, once his master's pet,
Seeing and hearing, cried, ' Ah ! well-a-day !
I 'm no relation, I 've not help'd to sink
The well, nor am of any further use
To be to him what I have been ; 't is plain
That if I wait my turn, I 'm in the lurch,
And must drop dead with thirst unless 1 seek
Relief elsewhere.'
" Cousin *, with this example
I furnish you, to stop the mouths of those
Who think his holiness might have preferr'd
Me to the Nert, Vanni, Lotti, Eacci,
Nephews and kin so numerous, claiming right
To drink in the first year ; then those that help'd
To robe him with the best of mantles, &c. &c. &c.
* * * *
If till all these have drunk their fill I wait,
I know not which will be the first dried up,
The well of water, or myself by thirst."
The poet, alluding in direct terms to his visit to Rome,
and his specious reception by Leo, says, "" I had better
remain in ray accustomed quiet, than try whether it be
true, that whomsoever fortune exalts, she first dips in
Lethe." The subtle irony that follows cannot be mis-
* Annibale Maleguccio, to whom the Satire is addressed.
ARIOSTO. 223
taken in the original, while the indignant satirist, with
the most unaffected gravity, and in right good faith,
seems to acquit his patron of forgetfulness and ingrati- J
tude, — the very things with which it is certain that he
means to charge him. Ariosto can keep his countenance
like the Spartan boy, who, having stolen a fox, and
hidden it under his cloak, suffered the animal to worry
its way into his heart, without betraying, by any con-
tortion, the secret of his theft. " Nevertheless, if it
be the fact that she (Fortune) does plunge others there J
(in Lethe), so that all remembrances of the past are
washed out, I can testify that he (Leo) had not lost his
memory when I first kissed his foot ; he bowed himself
towards me from the blessed seat, took me by the hand,
and gave me a holy kiss on either cheek ; he likewise
granted me most graciously one half of that same bull
of which my friend Bebiena lately remitted me the
balance, at my own expense ; wherefore, with skirts and
bosom full of hopes, but splashed from head to foot with
rain and mud, I returned to supper at my inn the
same night. But even if it be true that the pope means
to make good all his former promises, and now intends
me to reap fruit of the seed which I have sown through
so many years ; if it be true that he will bestow upon
me as many mitres and coronets as the master of his
chapel ever saw assembled when his holiness says mass ;
if it be true that he will fill my sleeves, my pockets,
and my lap with gold, and, lest that should not be
enough, cram me bodily with it up to the chin (la gola,
il venire e le budella) ; would all this glut my enormous
voracity for wealth ? or would the fierce thirst of my
cerastes * be appeased with this ? From Morocco to
China, from the Nile to the Danube, and not merely to
Rome, I must travel, if I would find means to satiate
the unnatural cravings of avarice. Were I a cardinal,
or even the great servant of servants, and yet could not
* A .serpent, supposed to have horns ; probably the hooded snake of the
East Indies, — one of the most venomous and deadly of the kind : here it
is the emblem of avarice.
224< LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
find bounds to my inordinate desires, what good should
I get by wearying myself with such huge leaps ? I had
better lie still, and tire myself less."
The fable which follows, typifies the mournful but
ludicrous fact, that, while all who reach the heights they
aim at are disappointed, — that for which they aim at
these being as unapproachable at the top of the hill as
from the bottom, — others are continually aspiring,
through all the stages of the wearisome ascent, towards
the very prize which the successful have not gained,
though to those beneath it appears to be actually in
their possession : —
" Once on a time, — 'twas when the world was young,
And the first race of men were inexperienced,
For there were no such knaveries then as now, —
A certain people, whom 1 need not name,
Dwelt at the foot of an enormous hill,
Whose summit from the valley seem'd to touch
The sky itself.
" These simple folks, observing
How oft the inconstant moon, now with a horn,
And now without, now waxing, and now waning,
Held through the firmament her natural course,
Supposed that on the top they might find out
How she enlarged, then shrunk into herself.
One with a bag, another with a basket,
Began to scale the precipice amain,
Each eager in the strife to outclimb the rest ;
But finding at the peak they were no nearer,
All fell down weary on the earth, and wish'd
Most heartily that they had stay'd below.
Tbeir neighbours from the bottom seeing them :
Aloof, believed that they had reach'd the moon,
And hurried breathless up to share the spoil.
— This mountain is the mighty wheel of Fortune,
Upon whose rim the stupid vulgar think
All is tranquillity, though ne'er a bit." *
With equal spleen and pleasantry, in the seventh
Satire, the author, as an experienced hand, ridicules the
favourite game of mankind, — climbing the wheel of
Fortune, and never finding themselves complete fools till
they are quite at the top. The allusion (scarcely in-
telligible in this country, where it is played in earnest
only, and not for pastime) is to a game of cards, of
which a pack is called tarrochi (trumps) : these are
painted expressly in the manner described below, namely,
* " Ch' ogni quiete sia, nfe ve n' fe alcuna."
ARIOSTO. 225
the transmigration, by instalments, of climbing men
into asses ; and they are used for the purpose of playing
at minchiate (blockhead), — a common recreation at Flo-
rence, and — wherever else the reader pleases : —
" That pictured wheel, 1 own, annoys me sorely,
Which every master paints in the same way,
And such agreement cannot be a lie,
— When that which sits aloft they make an ass.
Now every one may understand this riddle,
Without the sphinx to interpret ; — for, mark well,
Each, as he climbs, begins to ossify
From top to toe ; head, shoulders, arms, thence downward ; '
The limbs below remaining human still : "*
that is, till having reached the summit, the man has the
felicity to find himself an accomplished ass. The poet,
immediately afterwards, applies this unlucky hieroglyphic
to himself and his journey to Rome, to congratulate
Leo X. on his accession to the triple crown. His ser-
vices, expectations, and disappointments, while a wor-
shipper of that golden calf of literary idolatry (whose
rites have not yet ceased), are humorously but vin-
dictively recapitulated. Illustrative of these, he intro-
duces another fable in his own free and easy manner.
La Fontaine himself might have borrowed from Ariosto
the idea of that simple yet facetious style which dis-
tinguishes his fables. To the disgrace of both, the
Frenchman seems likewise to have borrowed from the
Italian the model, as well as some of the materials, for
his profligate tales. " My hope," says the forlorn
satirist, " came with the first leaves and blossoms of
spring, but withered without waiting for September. It
came on the day when the church was given for a spouse
to Leo, when I saw so many of my friends clad in
scarlet at the nuptials. It came with the calends, and
fled with the ides : remembering this, I can never again
put confidence in man. My silly hope shot up to
heaven, and spread over unknown lands, when the holy
* " Vi si vide anco che ciascun che ascende
Commincia a iyasinir le prime membre,
£ resta umano quel che a dietro paude. "
YOL. I. Q
226 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
father'took me by the hand and kissed me on the cheeks ;
but high as it rose, so low it fell, and oh ! in how short
space of time ! "
" There was a gourd which grew so lustily, "
That in few days its foliage over.ran
The loftiest branches of a neighbouring pear-tree.
One morn, the latter, opening wide its eyes
After a long sound nap, beheld new fruits
Clustering luxuriantly around its head.
« Holla! ' it cried ; ' who are you ? and how came you ?
Where were you when these wretched eyes of mine
To slumber I resign'd ? ' The gourd replied
Frankly ; declared its name and kindred ; show'd
How it was planted at his honour's foot,
And in three months had thriven to that height.
' And I,' the pear-tree answer'd, ' hardly climb'd
To this pre-eminence, through heat and cold,
And wars with all the winds, in thirty years !
But you, who in the twinkling of an eye
Have sprung to heaven, shall, with the self-same speed
As you have risen, down dwindle to the root.' "
Notwithstanding the neglect which he experienced at
Rome, Ariosto was now enjoying ease and dignity at
the court of Alfonso, compared with the servitude, or
rather the servility, which Hippolito formerly exacted
of his retainers. During this prosperous period of his
life, he was appointed by his patron to a post of honour
and difficulty, if not of emolument, which required the
exercise of certain politic talents rarely possessed by
poets, but which he must have possessed in no incon-
siderable measure, judging by the trusts so repeatedly
reposed in him. Graffagnana, a mountainous district
lying between Modena and Lucca, and which had been
wrested some years before by the pope from the duke of
Ferrara, threw off the yoke, and returned to its former
lord, upon the demise of Leo X. This tract of de-
bateable land was occupied by a people proverbially rude,
factious, and turbulent among themselves, as well as
refractory towards the ill-established authorities set over
them from time to time by their temporary sovereigns.
Hence the woodlands and glens on the Apennine slopes,
where their country was situated, were infested with
banditti; and the inhabitants were embroiled in perpetual
lawsuits before tribunals where little justice was to be
obtained, or else at open variance with their own bands,
ABIOSTO. 227
determining right by might. To that dreary province,
in such a hideous state of affairs, Ariosto was sent to
redress grievances, restore quiet, and advance the semi-
barbarians a step or two in civilisation. This task, —
on the face of it more fitted to the talents of an Orpheus
or Amphion, than those of a modern minstrel ; unless,
like the one, he was master of the lost art of teaching
stones to build themselves into temples and palaces, or,
like the other, could draw rocks and forests, with their
population of lions and tigers, after him, by the en-
chantment of his lyre, — he seems to have accomplished
with moderate success among a tribe already acquainted
with his romantic poetry, and prepared to honour the
author. Sir John Harrington says, that " he so orderly
governed, and so well quieted," these riotous hordes by
his wisdom and equity, that " he left them all in good
peace and concord ; winning not only the love of the
better sort, but also a wonderful reverence of the wilder
people, and a great awe even in robbers and thieves."
The latter phrase alludes to a story which has been dif-
ferently told, but may be received as substantially true,
of a rencontre which he had with some of his more
uncouth neighbours. One day traversing a forest, ac-
companied by five or six horsemen, the little party was
startled by the appearance of a body of armed men
breaking cover, and coming suddenly upon them ; these
belonged to one of the gangs of brigands, which, under
two audacious leaders — Domenico 'Marotto and Phi-
lippo Pachione — divided the peace of the country be-
tween them, allowing none to each other, and depriving
every one else of it. The expected assailants, however,
after curiously eying the governor and his train, per-
mitted them to pass ; which his excellency was very
willing to do, though, as chief magistrate, he had found
a whole nest of outlaws. Having formerly signalised
himself in the river fight with the Venetians, and there
being no occasion to exercise any other than " the
better part of valour — discretion" — in this affair, Ariosto
228 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
felt his honour as safe as his life, in riding on without
offering molestation where he experienced none. But
the captain of the band,, being struck with his superior
presence, demanded of the hindmost of his attendants
what was his master's name. " Ludovico Ariosto,"
replied the other : whereupon, galloping up to him, the
freebooter hailed the poet (who expected a very different
salutation) with the most profound respect and courtesy,
introducing himself as Philippo Pachione, and regretting
that, from not having previously known his person, he
and his troop had not- done due honour to him in pass-
ing. He then launched out into vehement praises of
the Ci Orlando Furioso" (a poem likely enough to be the
delight of such adventurers), and with all humility and
frankness offered his most devoted services to its author.
Baretti's version of the anecdote is to the following
effect : — Ariosto one morning happened to take a walk
in his night-gown and slippers beyond the castle where
he resided, fell into a fit of thought, and forgot himself
so much, that step after step he found himself, when he
recovered, already far from home, and surrounded on a
sudden by a troop of desperadoes ; who certainly would
have ill used, and perhaps murdered him, had not his
face been known by one of the gang, who, informing
his comrades that it was signor Ariosto, the chief of
the banditti addressed him with intrepid gallantry, and
told him, that since his excellency was the author of
" Orlando Furioso," he might be sure that none of his
company would injure him, but would see him, on the
contrary, safe to the castle. This they did, entertaining
him all the way with the passages which they most
admired in his poem." Ariosto himself seems to allude
to some such circumstance in the Epistle to S. Male-
guccio (Satire V.), written during his residence in Graf-
fagnana.
" Saggio chi dal castel poco si scosta."
" He 's wise who strays but little from the castle."
Two of his epistolary Satires are dated from that
ARIOSTO. 229
province ; where he seems to have heen as little at
home as Ovid in Pontus. In that first quoted, to
Sigismondo Maleguccio, at the end of the first year of
his honourahle exile, he says, —
" This is the earliest note, in all the time,
Which I have warbled to the nymphs that guard
The tree, whose leaves I once so long'd to wear :
Such is the strangeness of the place to me,
That I am like a bird, whose cage is changed,
And many a day refrains his wonted song :
My cousin, wonder not that I am mute ;
The wonder 's greater that I 'm not dead with spleen —
Shut as I am, a hundred miles and more,
By Alps and snow, and streams and woods, from her
Who holds alone the reins of my affection." Satire V.
Sancho Panza, in his island of Barataria, neither ad-
ministered justice more wisely, nor was interrupted more
provokingly in his personal indulgences, than Ariosto
in his government of Graffagnana ; and, unfortunately
for his comfort, the stronghold of Castelnuovo was not
stormed at midnight hy some friendly enemy, nor him-
self ejected by violence, to his heart's content. The
poet's miserable reign lasted three long years ; while the
squire of Don Quixote had the happiness to be relieved
from the cares of state in less than as many days. How
unfit for the management of a brute people he deemed
himself, may be judged from the story with which he
closes this epistle.
" Methinks that I resemble the Venetian
To whom the king of Portugal presented
A noble steed of Mauritanian blood ;
Who, to do justice to the royal gift,
Nor once considering, that to turn a helm,
And draw a bridle, are two different things,
Mounted aloft, and with both hands held fast
At at a rudder ; then in either flank
Cast anchor with his spurs, and bravely mutter'd,
' I '11 warrant ye don't fling me overboard.'
The horse, thus handled, bolted off* full speed ;
Whereat the gallant seaman pull'd the harder,
And deeper struck the rowels sharp as spears.
Till mouth and reins were tinged with blood and foam.
The beast, not knowing which to obey — the points
That urged him on, or curb that held him back —
With a few desperate plunges rid himself
Of his strange rider ; who, with shatter'd ribs,
Crack'd collar-bone, head broken, all begrimed
With mud and dirt, and pale with fright, crawl'd off
In no good humour with his majesty,
Q 3
230 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
And, far away, bewail'd his horsemanship.
Well had it been for him, and well for me,
If for his charger he, I for my province,
Had said, — ' O king ! O duke ! I am not worthy
Of such high honour ; graciously bestow
Your bounty on some other.' "
While he was here, M. Bonaventura Pistolfo, secretary
to Alfonso, wrote to invite Ariosto to accept a third
embassy to Rome ; not on a perilous and temporary
errand, but to reside there as the representative of his
sovereign, f( for a year or two," at the court of Cle-
ment VII. The poet, however, had sagacity enough to
decline putting himself again in the way of Fortune,
where, instead of taking him by the hand, on former
occasions, she had only splashed him with the mud from
her wheel as it rolled through the streets, encumbered
with aspiring asses in every stage of transmigration.*
His correspondent having intimated that, besides com-
plying with the duke's pleasure at Rome, he might stand
a chance of obtaining great and fat preferments by favour
of a member of the house of Medici, with which he had
been so long and courteously acquainted, then filling ^the
papal chair ; since it was more probable that he should
catch, if he fished in a great river, than _in an ordinary
stream; he thus replies, in the seventh Satire: —
" I thank you, that the desire is ever fresh with you to
promote my interest, and to change me from a plough-
ox into a Barbary steed. You might command me
with fire and sword to serve the duke, not in Rome only,
but in France, Spain, or India ; but if you would fain
persuade me that honour and riches may be got in
the way you propose, you must find a different bait, to
lure your bird into that net. As for honour, I have
already as much as my heart could wish : it is enough
for me that, at home, I can see more then half a dozen
of my neighbours doff their caps when they meet me,
because they know that I sometimes sit at table with the
duke, and obtain a trifling favour which I seek for
myself or a friend. Then, if I have honour enough to
* See the emblem already.'quoted from Satire VIL
ARIOSTO. 231
satisfy me, I should have abundance of wealth also ;
and my desires, which sometimes wander, would he at
rest, if I had just so much that I could live, and be at
liberty, without having to ask any thing of any one :
more than this I never hope to attain. But, since so
many of my friends have had the power to do thus
much for me, and I still remain in poverty and de-
pendence^ I will not let her *, who was so backward to
fly out of the box of the imprudent Epimeteus, to lead
me by the muzzle like a buffalo." Towards the close
of this epistle, he intimates that it is some unconfessed
affection which draws him so tenderly and irresistibly
towards his native nest; and adds — " It is well for me
that I can hide myself among these mountains, and that
your eyes cannot run a hundred miles after me, to see
whether my cheeks be pale or red at this acknow-
ledgment. Certainly, if you saw my face at the moment I
am writing, far away as I am, itywould appear to you as
deeply crimsoned as that of the father canon was, when
he let fall, in the market-place, the wine-flask which he
had stolen from a brother, besides the two that he had
drunk. If I were at your elbow, perhaps you would
snatch up a cudgel to bastinado me, for alleging such a
crazy reason why I wish not to live at a distance from
you."
The attachment insinuated in the enigmatical lines,
of which the above is a prose version, is with equal
ambiguity alluded to in the fourth Satire, addressed to
Annibale Maleguccio, where, excusing himself from
going abroad, on the ground that he preferred pursuing
his studies at home, and confining his voyages and
travels, though they extended all over the world, to the
maps and charts of Ptolemy, he breaks off thus : — " Me-
thinks you smile and say, 'Neither the love of country nor
study, but of a lady, is the cause why you will not move.'
I frankly confess it : now shut your mouth ; for I will
* Hope, that remained at the bottom of Pandora's fatal gift to the bro-
ther of Prometheus.
Q 4
232 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
neither take up sword nor shield to defend a fib."
This jest has been taken in earnest, though no man in
his senses would swear on the word of a poet so
uttered. Be that as it may, it is generally understood
that his life was sufficiently dissolute to warrant his
correspondent's suspicion ; and to require him, when so
charged, to escape with a pleasantry, though it were
accompanied by a blush.
After three years, being released from the cares of his
government, Ariosto returned, with entire devotion of
his time and talents, to the " sacred college of the Muses;"
perfecting his fc Orlando" by almost daily touches, the
fruits of habitual meditation upon its multifarious sub-
jects, to the last year of his life. He likewise revised
several comedies written in his youth, turning them
from prose into metre; and composing others. These
.were so much admired, that they were often acted in
the court of Alfonso ; persons of the highest rank repre-
senting the characters. His earliest and his latest works,
therefore, were dramatic, but certainly not his best :
that, indeed, could not be expected ; theatrical per-
formances being comparatively new in Italy, and, in
general, exceedingly crude or exceedingly pedantic.
It is said that Ariosto's plays are yet read with delight
by his countrymen : the titles of them are, — the
" Menechini," borrowed from Plautus ; " La Cassaria,"
" I Suppositi," te La Lena," " II Negromante," and
(( La Scholastica;" of which latter, his brother Gabriele
furnished the concluding act, Ludovico having left it
incomplete. A curious anecdote is told of him when a
youth, which is characteristic at once of his phlegm and
his acuteness in the practice of his art. — His father,
being displeased by some juvenile inadvertence, very
severely reprimanded him in the presence of the rest of
the family. Ludovico bore the infliction with perfect
composure, neither expressing contrition, nor attempting
to justify himself. When Nicolo had retired, his
brother Gabriele remonstrated with him, both on the
imputed fault, and his apparent insensibility of shame
ABIOSTO. 233
or rebuke. Thereupon the poet so promptly and effect-
ually cleared his conduct, that his brother, in great
astonishment, asked him why he had not given the
same explanation of it to their father. " Because,"
said the young dramatist, " I was so busily thinking, all
the while, how to make the best use of what my father
said, in my new comedy, in which I have just such a
scene of an old man scolding his boy, that in the ideal,
I forgot the real incident."
His sevenJSa tires were also composed during the latter
years of his life ; but, on account of their irreverence
towards high personages both in church and state,
they were not published till a convenient time after his
death. The*y are in the form of epistles ; and, in fact,
were written as such, on real occasions, to the several
friends addressed in them. These pieces allude so much
to personal and family circumstances, that Ariosto's
biographers are more indebted to them than to any other
equally authentic source for their materials ; and it has
been for the like reason, principally, that such copious
extracts have been made from the same valuable docu-
ments in the foregoing pages. In these remarkable
effusions of spleen and pleasantry, there is nothing gaudy
or superficial, to attract ordinary readers ; nothing
forced or unnatural, to produce ostentatious effect. The
thoughts are thick-sown ; the diction seems to be with-
out effort (the result, no doubt, of consummate art),
being pungent and simple, like the best style of con-
versation, except when the subject, at rare intervals,
becomes poetical — when at once the swan of Castaly
launches upon the stream, swells into beauty, and rows
in gallant state till the water runs shallow again. There
is none of the stern indignation of Juvenal, nor the
harshness and obscurity of Persius, in these productions ;
yet, lively, sarcastic, and urbane as they are, there is
almost as little resemblance in them to those fine but
high-toned compositions of Horace, which were, un-
questionably, our author's models — though less for imi-
tation than for rivalry. Like every other species of
234 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
literature which Ariosto tried, how much soever he may
have adorned all, these bosom-communications to his
intimate friends are not exempt from occasional ob-
scenities, so repulsive -and abominable, that they cannot
be commended and dismissed without this mark of
infamy, which no merits can efface.
Whether Ariosto, who, according to all accounts, and
the lewdness of his writings, led no very chaste life,
were married or not; and, if married, to whom; are
questions which have puzzled his biographers, and are
now of little moment to be settled : no proof of marriage
would redeem his character, or purify his most beautiful
poems from the moral defilement that cleaves to them.
His Muse had the plague, and all her offspring are dis-
eased. An author is not answerable to posterity for the
evil of his mortal life, but for the profligacy of that life
which he lives through after ages, contaminating by
irrepressible and incurable infection the minds of mil-
lions— it may be, till the day of judgment, — he is
amenable even in his grave. It is not necessary to
enter further into judgment with the offender before us
in this place.
Married, or not married, Ariosto had two sons, whom
he not only openly avowed as such, but faithfully and
affectionately educated them, according to his knowledge
and views of what is good and honourable in society,
for scholars and gentlemen, as he intended them to be.
His epistle to cardinal Bembo (the sixth Satire) is highly
creditable to his parental solicitude for the welfare of his
children in this respect : indeed, he seems to have been
exemplary in every relationship of life, except that
which requires personal purity, — a virtue little re-
garded either by laymen or ecclesiastics in his day ; and,
judging by the deeper taint of their writings, as well as
the evidence of their lives, often held in less esteem by
the latter than the former.
Towards the close of the year 1532, Ariosto was
seized with illness, brought on, it was said, by agitation,
when the sumptuous theatre erected by the duke of
ARIOSTO. 235
Ferrara, for the exhibition of his comedies, was con- -•
sumed by fire ; or, as his physicians, with more proba-
bility, conjectured, by indigestion, from the habit of *
eating fast, and bolting his food almost unmasticated.
Whatever might have been the cause, the disorder ter-
minated in his death about the midsummer following.
In the same year that he was thus mortally stricken,
he had put his last hand to the " Orlando Furioso," and J
left the poem in that form in which it appears, in forty-
six cantos ; the five additional ones, which have always
been deemed unworthy of such a connection, having
been published for the first time in 1545, twelve years
afterwards. Among what may be deemed the apocry-
phal traditions concerning Ariosto, it has been affirmed
and contradicted, with very questionable evidence on
either side, that he received the laurel from the hands *
of the emperor Charles V., in the city of Mantua, twelve
months before his death. The very circumstance of a
reasonable doubt being raised respecting a fact, which,
if it had occurred, must have been known throughout
all Italy, Germany, France, and Spain, seems almost
sufficient to invalidate the story. One of his biogra-
phers (Minchino) says, that when Ariosto felt the
crown upon his brows, placed there by so august a per-
sonage, he went beside himself for joy ; and ran about
the streets as much out of his wits, for the time, as his
own hero. It may be remarked, that nothing could
have been more out of character than such extravagance
in a person of Ariosto's temperament, who (whatever
licence he granted to his Muse in his writings, or to
his passions in secret), in public, always maintained a
dignity and manliness of demeanour, which commanded ->
respect, and showed that he never forgot his honourable
birth, or waved the consciousness of intellectual supe-
riority ; though he was careful that neither of these ad-
vantages should encroach upon the jealous or vindictive
sensibility of others.
Ariosto in person was tall and strong-boned, but
stooping a little, and slow in his gait as well as in all
230 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
his motions. His countenance, judging from Titian's
portrait, — the lofty forehead a little bald, the black
curled locks behind, and corresponding beard upon a
jutting chin, the elevated brows above the dark bright
eyes, the Roman nose, lips eloquently moulded, teeth
<f passing even and white," thin cheeks, complexion
slightly olive, long visage, well-proportioned neck, and
shoulders square, — his countenance, with features such
as these, might altogether have been deemed the beau
ideal which the first painter had conceived of the first
poet of the age, had not contemporary testimonies as-
sured us that the whole was not more happily than cor-
rectly copied from the living model.
There is little of tenderness, and less of stern sub-
•i limity, in any of his poems ; and yet it is uniformly
affirmed that his aspect and manner were grave, melan-
cholic, and contemplative, — from habit, probably, more
than from nature; for in company he was affable, and
his conversation perculiarly captivating to women, whom,
no doubt, he laid himself out to please, and with whom
he was no small favourite. So far, also, as they could
appreciate his merit, and endure that aristocracy of
mind which pressed hard upon the heels of hereditary
rank, or mushroom vanity raised from stercorarious
heaps in ecclesiastical hotbeds, his society was courted
by the greatest personages in church and state, in-
cluding popes, cardinals, and sovereign princes. Un-
assuming, but not indifferent to slights or wrongs from
the highest with whom he was associated, he led, on
the whole, a feverish life between resolute poverty and
precarious dependence, with the continual temptation
to rise to wealth by means which he abhorred, and for
which he must have abhorred himself had he stooped
to employ them.
Of persons of the other sex, who, from time to time,
caught his wandering affections, the names of two
(whether real or disguised) have been preserved — Alex-
andra and Guenevra. It is understood that the former
(to whom he may have been privately married) was
ARIOSTO. 237
the mother of his two sons, — Giambattista, who devoted
himself to a military life, and Virginio, who obtained
distinction in literature. For the other lady, his pas-
sion might be no more than a poetical one — she being
married, and a mother, in an honourable family of Flo-
rence akin to his own. Finding her one day adorning a
silk coat for one of her children, so as to resemble armour
by the devices — the ground silver, and the embroidery
purple — against a festival spectacle, at which the lad was
to figure in it on Midsummer Eve, he was so inspired by
the hand and the needle, that he celebrated their per-
formance in the twenty-fourth book of the " Orlando
Furioso ;" where, describing a wound, " not deep but
long," received in combat with Mandricardo by Zer-
bino, from which the blood trickled over his splendid
panoply, the poet introduces the following admired but
frigid simile : —
",Le lucide arme il caldo sangue irriga
Per sino al pie de rubiconda riga.
" Cosi talora un bel purpureo nastro
Ho veduto partir tela d' argento,
Da quella bianca man plu ch' alabastro,
Da cui partire il cor spesso mi sen to."
" The warm blood, with a crimson rivulet,
Down to the foot his shining armour wet
" So have I seen a beauteous purple zone
Divide a web of silver, by the art
Of that white hand, outvying Parian stone,
Which oft I feel dividing "thus my heart"
This is much more in the strain of fanciful passion-
less ideality (like Petrarch's mistress, and his praises of
her), than warm, ingenuous, honest love, " whose dwell-
ing is the heart of man," and whose language is that of
nature, which all may understand who ever knew affec-
tion. In the same vein of ingenious artificial compli-
ment and conceit (often, indeed, elegant and captivating
to the mind at ease, and amusing itself with " love in
idleness") are the Elegies, Sonnets, and Madrigals of
Ariosto ; — all calculated more to set off the beauties of
his Muse than of his mistress ; and rather to command
admiration of himself, than to do honour to her, whom,
though a divinity in song, and adored with magnificent
238 " LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
rites, he worships with nearly as little devotion as an
idol deserves. Of the following sonnet (the nineteenth
in the series), Paolo Rolli says, " non e stata mai scritta
poesia piu sublime" — ee poetry more sublime was never
written." It would be hard to persuade any English-
man of this.
" Chiuso era il Sol da un tenebroso velo,
Che si stendea fino all' estreme sponde
Dell' orizonte, e mormorar le fronde
S';udiano, e tuoni andar scorrendo il cielo.
Di pioggia, in dubbio, o tempestoso gelo,
Stav' io per gire oltre le torbid" onde
Del fiume altier che il gran sepolcro asconde,
Del figlio audace del Signer di Delo: —
" Quando apparir sull' altra ripa il lume
De bei vostr' occhij vidi, e udij parole
Che Leandro potean farmi quel giorno.
E tutto a un tempo i nuvoli d' intorno
Si dileguaro, e si scoperse il Sole,
Tacquero i venti, e tranquillossi '1 fiume."
" The sun was shrouded with a gloomy veil
That reach'd the dim horizon's utmost bound, '
The forest leaves were heard to murmur round,
And distant thunder peal'd along the gale.
In doubt 1 stood, of rain or pelting hail,
By the proud river, rapid and profound,
Wherein Apollo's daring son was drown'd*,
Afraid to dip the oar or hoist the sail :
" When, from the farther bank, the light I saw
Of your fair eyes, and heard a voice, of power
To make Leander of me in that hour.
At once the clouds their dark array withdraw,
The sun brake forth, the rainbow climb'd the hill,
The winds were silent, and the waters still"
The foregoing version has been rendered as little
paraphrastic as might be (though the eighth line is
interpolated) ; but all rhymed translations from the
Italian, in the same number of lines as the original,
must be encumbered either with additional thought
or verbiage — our language being altogether more brief
in syllabic composition.
The society of Ariosto was courted by the learned and
the polite ; not for his wit and intelligence only, but for
the privilege of hearing his latest compositions, as they
came warm from his mind, or were gradually wrought
to perfection by that patient labour for which he was
» The Po, into which Phaeton was struck from the chariot of the Sun. ;
ABIOSTO. 239
distinguished, and to which he is indebted for as much
of his glory as to the creative energy of his genius it-
self. For when he had originated, by force of invention,
his most admired performances, he never ceased to im-
prove them afterwards by touches innumerable, exquisite,
and undiscerned by ordinary eyes, till the art which
effected the changes at length disappeared in its own
consummation, and those seemed to be the first thoughts
in the first words, which were really the last transmi-
grations of the former through the latter. No poet of
any age has more inseparably identified his conceptions
with his language than Ariosto ; in fact, his ideas
themselves are so vernacular, that they can scarcely be
made to speak any other than their native tongue ; they
defy translation. Nothing, indeed, can be easier than
to render the literal meaning in dictionary terms ; yet
nothing less resembling the original in all that constitutes
its prime excellence — grace, freedom, and simplicity —
can be imagined than these. Of the " Orlando Fu-
rioso" there are three English versions : that by sir •*
John Harrington, in the reign of queen Elizabeth, is
coarse, careless, and unfaithful ; that of Hpole, about
fifty years ago, tame, diffuse, and prosaic ; the recent I
one by W. S. Rose, esq., elegant, spirited, and probably j
as true to the text as any readable paraphrase can be j
under the difficulties aforementioned.
While this magnificently wild and sportive work was
in progress, and after its first publication, during the
refining process through which it was continually pass-
ing till the last year of his own life, the poet wras ac- ~>
customed to rea_d, at the courts of Hippolito and
Alfonso, and in other favoured circles, the cantos as
they were produced, revised, or had received their final
polish. This accounts partly for the manner in which
the hundredfold story is told, — not as recorded in •*
a book, but as delivered spontaneously before princes
and prelates, scholars and gentry, assembled to listen
to the marvellous adventures of knights and ladies,
giants and enchanters, from the lips of the gifted nar-
240 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
rator. Ariosto excelled in the practice of reading aloud,
whether the subjects were his own, or those of his illus-
trious predecessors or contemporaries; to which his
melodious voice, distinct utterance, and versatile spirit
gave peculiar emphasis and animation. This accom-
plishment was of great value after the revival of letters,
when books were scarce, and authors depended, for pecu-
niary recompence, more upon the gratuities of patrons,
than upon honourable profits from extensive sales of their
writings. But though he was thus master of the rarest
art of speech, — good reading, especially of verse, being
seldomer attained (perhaps because it is less duly ap-
preciated) than eloquent declamation, — he was never
forward either to begin, by obtruding it upon his friends
for his own gratification, nor slow to leave off when he
had wearied himself for others. As his ear was nice,
and his taste pure in this respect, he was proportionately
offended by indifferent, vulgar, or boisterous recitation.
The story is told of him, that one day, passing a potter's
shop,~TTe heard the unlettered artisan singing, in harsh
and ill-accented numbers, a stave of the " Orlando."
According to sir John Harrington, it was the thirty-
second in the first canto *, — and this will do as well
as any other in a questionable tale, — in which Rinaldo
tries to catch his horse, with as little success as many a
groom and gentleman has done before and since. The
poet, as little able to keep his temper as his hero on the
" Non molto va Rinaldo, che si vede
Saltar innanzi il suo destrier feroce :
' Ferma, Bajardo mio, deh ! ferine il piede ;
Che 1* esser senza te troppo mi noce.'
Per q ues to il destrier sordo a lui non riede,
Anzi piu se ne va sempre veloce ;
Segue Rinaldo, e d' ira si distrugge :
— Ma sequitiamo Angelica, che fugge."
" Not far hath gone Rinaldo, ere he spies
His fiery steed before him, bounding free :
' Stay, my Bayardo ! prythee stay,' he cries ;
' For much am I annoy'd for lack of thee.'
Yet the deaf horse returns not, nor replies,
Save with his heels that swift and swifter flee.
Rinaldo follows, fuming in the race,
— But we must give the flying lady chase."
ARIOSTO. 241
occasion, rushed among the crockery, smashing now
one piece, then another, on the right hand and on the
left, with his walking-stick. The potter, half para-
lised and half frantic, hastily, yet hesitatingly, enquired
why the gentleman should thus injure a poor fellow
who had done him no harm? "No harm, man?"
replied the enraged author, " I am scarcely even with
thee yet : I have cracked three or four wretched jugs of
thine, not worth a groat, and thou hast heen mangling
and murdering a stanza of mine worth a mark of gold ! "
Unluckily for the credit of this sally of professional •*
petulance, the same anecdote has been told of Camoens,
the Portuguese, who lived half a century later; and
something like it of Philoxenus, who lived nearly 2000
years earlier. Yet the tradition concerning Ariosto ^
may be true; who, remembering the classic precedent,
might choose to follow it in a case where no redress
could be looked for, except from taking the law into his
own hands. At the worst, such an outrage must have ••
been a piece of caustic pleasantry ; and it may be taken
for granted, that the sufferer was well compensated for
having afforded the poet no very disagreeable opportunity
of indulging his humour ; since, however the learned J
may pretend to despise the opinions of the multitude,
there is scarcely any proof of fame more flattering to
the proudest aspirant, than a cross-wind of popular ap-
plause. Cervantes, who well understood the secrets of
a poet's breast, goes farther, and, with consummate
propriety, makes the student, whose verses had been
commended to the skies by Don Quixote, say within •>
himself, — " How sweet is praise, even from the lips
of a madman ! "
Of Ariosto's personal habits, some whimsical pecu-
liarities have been mentioned, not 'worth repeating,
except to gratify the very natural curiosity — call it
impertinent who will — which most readers feel to learn
all that they can about a favourite author. He himself
confesses that he could scarcely distinguish the different
VOL. I. R
242 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
kinds of food ; and it has been already seen that he
was in the practice of eating voraciously. — A friend,
who had invited him to an entertainment for the diver-
sion of the company, ordered a roasted kite to be palmed
upon him for a partridge. By the blunder of a servant,
the carrion was set before a nicer guest, who smelled the
joke, if he did not relish it, and the poet escaped the
savoury snare. — A stranger, calling upon him once when
he had just sat down to dinner, Ariosto eagerly ate up
all the " short commons" which had been provided,
while the other was entertaining him with most excel-
lent discourse. Being afterwards reproved by his bro-
ther for lack of hospitality, he coolly replied, — <e The
loss was the gentleman's own ; he should have taken
care of himself." His rudeness and hurry at table were
attributed principally to fits of rumination or absence of
mind ; and if he sometimes over-satisfied his appetite,
he did not usually indulge it with more than one meal
a day.
Quite in consonance with the poet's reveries were his
raptures of execution. After wandering in a day-dream
of thought, he would suddenly sit down and disburthen
his overcharged brain with effusions of song, that seemed
as spontaneous as spring showers that fall in gusts
through broad sunshine, though they have been long
collecting in the zenith ; or, he would start from (f a
brown study" at midnight, and call upon his servant
Gianni to bring pen, ink, and paper immediately, that
he might fix, before they vanished for ever, the imagin-
ations which had charmed him in his trance. The
" Orlando" thus appeared to come to him, canto by
canto, as the Koran to Mahomet ; and no doubt the one
was as truly inspired as the other. His early reading
had so filled and fertilised his mind, that he subsisted in
thought almost exclusively on the inexhaustible harvests
perpetually produced from the remembrances of that ;
and in his latter years was so indolent, or so indifferent
a searcher of the writings of others, that he frequently
passed weeks without turning over the pages of any
ARIOSTO. 243
except his own, — in which, like the spider, he seemed
to have a personal existence ; so diffusing himself
through them, that it might he said of him, that,
not with a touch only, " exquisitely fine," he could
" feel the whole thread," but also " live along the line."
In his last hours, he is represented as maintaining
his philosophical tranquillity, — neither affecting stoical
sternness, nor the hideous jocularity of some, who, to
hide their misgivings, die " as a fool dieth." He pro-
fessed to leave the world without much regret — having J
never, indeed, been very well satisfied with his portion
in it ; and, believing that in a future state men would
know each other, he observed, that he should be happy
to meet many whom he loved, and who had gone before /
him. How content to die in the dark are men of the
highest faculties, and otherwise of the most inquisitive •/
minds, who have never known, or who have rejected,
the truth of that Gospel by which life and immortality
were brought to light !
As might be expected on the demise of one so cele-
brated for genius, sonnets, elegies, and epitaphs in
abundance were composed and published to his honour.
His body was buried in the church of the Benedictines *
at Ferrara, when the monks of that order, contrary to
their usual reserve, accompanied the funeral procession :
a plain slab of marble being laid over the grave, was
presently over-run with Greek, Latin, and Italian verses,
as the natural products of so poetical a spot. His son
Virginio afterwards prepared a chapel and sepulchre •*
for his parent, in the garden of the house which he had
himself built, and where he had spent many of his last
and happiest days. But the good fathers had such re- -/
verence for the relics of a poet, who certainly was any
thing rather than a saint, and whom no pope would ca-
nonise, that they would not allow their removal. In pro-
cess of time, Agostino Mosti, a man of letters, who in
early life was a disciple of the deceased, seeing no me-
morial worthy of his master's fame erected, at his own
R 2
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
expense caused a tablet (worthy at least of himself) to he
placed in the aforesaid church of the Benedictines, with
a bust upon the tomb beneath, and a Latin inscription by
Lorenzo Fiesoli. A monument more superb was erected,
nearly a century later, by Ludovico his grand-nephew,
bearing also a Latin inscription. Neither of these, nor
even that which the poet composed in ' the same lan-
guage for himself, need be inserted here ; the two former
being in the common-place style of posthumous pa-
negyric, and the latter quaint and puerile, though of
sufficient significance to have been imitated by Pope,
with reckless profaneness, in the ribald lines which he
wrote for himself.
" Under this stone, or under this sill," &c.
The house which he built (as formerly mentioned),
with its humble inscription, is yet shown as a monument
more interesting to the eye of the enthusiastic admirer
of the poet, than any marble efftgies, however gor-
geously or exquisitely wrought, could be : it brings the
spectator into personal contact with himself, by local
and domestic association. But in this respect, the chair
in which he was wont to meditate ; and the inkstand
from which he filled his pen to disburthen his thoughts,
when they flowed, as they did at times, like the juice of
full ripe grapes from their own pressure, — if these relics
are genuine, — must^be incomparably the most touching
and inspiring memorials of his life and his labours.
Of Ariosto's grand performance, it would be vain to
sketch the outline, or enter into formal criticism here :
sufficient indications of the present biographer's estimate
of the author's powers and style of composition have
been already given. It would be idle and hopeless to
censure or carp at particulars, where little can be com-
mended beyond the talent with which a web of wonders
and horrors (the easiest and cheapest products of inven-
tion) has been so skilfully woven into poetical tapestry,
as not only to invest the most preposterous fictions with
the vividness of reality, but to charm or conciliate
ARIOSTO. 245
readers of all classes, from those of the severest taste to
those most akin to mere animal appetite ; disarming the
indignation of the former by exquisite playfulness,, and
transporting the latter by that marvellous intrepidity of
fibbing to which many a minstrel and romancer was
formerly indebted for his popularity. The fact is, that
though, with inimitable gravity, Ariosto tells story after
story (or rather story within story), deserving no better
appellation than that which his patron Hippolito be-
stowed upon his fictions iwhen he asked, " Messer Lu-
dovico, dove avete cogliate tante coglionere ? " " Where,
master Ludovico, have you picked up so many fool-
eries ? " yet Cervantes himself had not a keener sense of
ridicule, nor in his happiest sallies was he more expert
in humour or irony, than this "prince of liars," as
the curate in "Don Quixote" designates a certain tra-
veller. He describes, indeed, every scene, event, and
character throughout his world of nonentities, as they
might have been described, had they been actual and not
imaginary : yet it is frequently manifest, that, while he
appears to be writing romance, he is composing satire;
and though he delights in prodigies for their own sake,
yet, wherever they exceed the probable of the marvellous,
he is not only alive to their absurdity, but rejoices to
expose it, and turn extravagance itself into pleasantry.
In canto xxvi., Rinaldo, Richiardetto, and Ruggiero,
assisted by Marphisa (whom, in her martial accoutre-
ments, they do not perceive to be a woman of war),
massacre, without let or hindrance, two bodies of Moors
and Maganzes, whom they surprise at market together.
This, in plain prose, is the style in which the butchery
is described: — tf Marphisa, as she fought by their side,
often turned her eyes towards her companions in arms ;
and witnessing with wonder their rival achievements,
she extolled them all in turn : but the stupendous
prowess of Ruggiero, especially, appeared to her without
example in the world ; so that she was ready to imagine
him Mars, who had descended from the fifth heaven to
B 3
246 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
that quarter. She beheld his terrible strokes ; she beheld
them falling never in vain : it seemed as though, against
Balisarda (his sword), iron was paper, and not hard
metal ; for it split helmets and strong cuirasses ; it cleft
riders down to their saddles, throwing one half of the
man on the right hand, the other on the left ; and not
stopping there, the same blow slew the horse with his lord.
Heads from their shoulders it hurled into the air, and
often cut sheer the trunk from the loins ; five, and even
more, with one motion it sometimes despatched; and if I
did not fear that truth would not find credit, but be taken
for a lie, I could tell greater things : it is, therefore,
expedient rather to tell less than I might. The good
archbishop Turpin, who knows very well that he speaks
the truth, and leaves every one to believe it or not as
he pleases, relates such marvellous feats of Ruggiero,
that, hearing them repeated, you would say they were
falsehoods. Before Marphisa, every warrior seemed to
be ice, and she consuming flame : nor did she less at-
tract the eyes of Ruggiero towards herself, than he had
won hers to him ; and if she deemed him to be Mars,
he might have thought her to be Bellona, had he as
well known her to be a lady as her appearance indicated
the contrary. Perhaps the emulation then begotten
between them, was no good thing for those miserable
people, on whose flesh, blood, bones, and sinews, proof
was made how much each could do."
Now, what sympathy can be felt in such unequal
conflicts? No more, verily, than with the fate and
fortunes of the elephants and castles, the kings, queens,
bishops, knights, and commonalty on a chess-board, in
a game between an adept and a novice, which is up in
a few moments, neither exalting the winner nor dis-
paraging the loser, nor affecting life, limb, character, or
feeling in regard to one of the puppets employed in the
play. Of the same class are all the combats between
invulnerable heroes, and those who wield weapons of
enchantment : the irresistible spear of Bradamante, that
unhorsed every antagonist. whom it touched ; the magic
ARIOSTO. 247
horn of Astolpho, that routed armies with a blast ; Rug-
giero's veiled shield, the dazzling splendour of which,
when suddenly disclosed, struck with blindness and
astonishment all eyes that beheld it. Of the latter, the
author himself grows weary or ashamed, and makes his
hero so too ; though, with remarkable dexterity, he turns
into a glorious act of heroic virtue, the voluntary riddance
of it by the indignant Ruggiero, who throws it into a
hidden well, in a nameless forest in an undiscovered
land, after having won too cheap a victory by its acci-
dental exposure. In these two instances (and many
others might be quoted), Ariosto laughs at his own -J
extravagances, with as much pleasantry as Cervantes
himself at those of others : and it may, perhaps, be
affirmed that he does it with more tact and good sense ,
for it must be acknowledged that few outrages upon
nature in the tales of chivalry, which the Spaniard
justly ridicules, are felt by the reader to be more im-
probable than the crazy imitations of them by the knight
of La Mancha, whose pranks could only be attempted
by one absolutely insane, and therefore were as little a fair
mark for satire as for censure. Ariosto has this advan- J
tage over Cervantes, — that whatever is great, glorious,
oTTdrmrable in romance, he can seriously set forth in
all the pomp and eloquence of verse of the highest
species ; while whatever is mean, farcical, or monstrous,
he can exhibit in strains of facetiousness, at once as
grave and as poignant as those in which the celebrated
assault on the windmills, the rout of the sheep, or the
gross sensuality of Sancho Panza, are given, without
descending into caricature ; though no small portion of
his whole poem belongs to the grotesque, and happily
the plan admits of every variety of style from Homer to
Lucian.
Neither the dulness nor the licence of allegory can
be pleaded in extenuation of those unnatural circum-
stances, in which absurdity is at once exemplified and
ridiculed, as though the caprice of genius delighted as
B 4
248 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
much in the offence against taste as in the castigation of
it. Allegorical, indeed, some of his fancies notoriously
are ; but those who have attempted to " moralise" the
" fierce wars and faithful loves" of his song, as many
have done (and few more egregiously than sir John
Harrington, in the quaint essay annexed to his bar-
barous translation), might have employed their time
as profitably in raking moonshine out of water, which
flies off into millions of sparkles the moment it is dis-
turbed, but is no sooner let alone than it subsides into
the quiet and beautiful image of the orb above, which
it showed before. It cannot be said of Ariosto, as
Addison, in a miserable couplet, says of Spenser —
" His long-spun allegories tiresome grow,
While the dull moral lies too plain below."
The moral may be there, but it would require a diviner's
rod to detect its presence, and the skill of him who set
himself to extract sunbeams from cucumbers, to draw it
thence.
The " Orlando Furioso" of Ariosto is a continuation
J of the " Orlando Innamorato" of Boiardo, lord of Scan-
diana, his contemporary, but elder, the latter having
died in the year 1494. The relative circumstances of
the two poems form one of the most curious chapters in
the history of literature. Boiardo's work, in the ori-
J ginal, is comparatively little known, and less read, even
in Italy ; but it has been made famous throughout the
world, by having given birth to its more illustrious suc-
cessor. Whatever were the defects of the one author,
or the excellences of the other, Ariosto was undoubtedly
indebted to his forerunner, not only for many of the
most powerful and captivating fictions of his poem, but
for its intelligibility and popularity from the beginning.
? The latter was an immense advantage : half of the suc-
cess in a race depends upon a good start ; the eagle
himself cannot rise from flat ground as from the rock,
whence he launches at once into mid-air. By the
" Morgante Maggiore" of Pulci, the legends and songs of
ARIOSTO. 249
the Provencals, and the pretended chronicle of arch-
bishop Turpin, the public mind had been familiarised
with the traditions concerning Arthur and his knights
of the round table ; of Merlin the British enchanter,
and the Lady of the Lake ; and of Charlemagne and
his peers. Yet it was the intense interest and curiosity
excited by Boiardo's magnificent but uncompleted plot, -»
which (so far as the principal personages are concerned),
like
" The story of a bear and fiddle,
Begins, but breaks off in the middle" —
it was these which had prepared the eager and delighted
multitude of readers, or rather listeners, for any sequel
to his ec tales of wonder," which should keep up the
spirit of the original, and bring it to a crowning con-
clusion. These, therefore, with transport proportioned
to their surprise, hailed the appearance of Ariosto's
production, when, after having been long promised,
they found that it not only exceeded their expectations,
but eclipsed in splendour, beauty, and variety, the pro-
totype itself. This was so remarkably the case, that
one of the wittiest and most ingenious of his contem- ^
poraries recomposed the whole of Boiardo's poem ;
imitating, with farcical extravagance, the fine raillery and
unapproachable humour of Ariosto ; and falling in the
same ratio beneath him in elegance, majesty, and grace,
when the themes admitted or required adornment.
Thus, by an unexampled fatality, the " Orlando In-
namorato" was outshone by a sequel, and superseded •
by a rifacimento (we have no English word to ex-
press the renovating process). Authors themselves have
almost universally failed in second parts to their most
successful performances ; and as rarely have they re-
written such works, so as to take place of the first form
in which they obtained public favour* ; yet here, on
* Witness the total miscarriage of Tasso, in his " Gerusalemme Con-
quistata," as an improvement upon the " Gerusalemme Liberata ;" and of
Akenside, in his philosophic revision of the "Pleasures of Imagin-
ation."
250 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
the one hand, is a second part, by an imitator, that leaves
the original in obscurity, yet covers it with glory —
like Butler's description of die moon's veil —
" Mysterious veil ! of brightness made,
At once her lustre and her shade ; "
while, on the other hand, we have the example of a new
gloss of that original, by a meddler becoming the sub-
stitute for it, like the new skin of a serpent when the
old slough is cast aside.
The mischances of Boiardo's poem ended not here.
It was not published during the author's life, except
by oral communication among his friends ; what he had
composed, had not received the corrections due to its
worth and his own talents ; and the work itself being
left imperfect at the ninth canto, one Nicolo degli
Agostini took up the strain there, and added so much
matter as brought the various subjects involved in it to
a consistent termination. A fourth experiment was
made upon this polypus production, which multiplied
its vitality the more, the more it was mangled. Ludo-
vico Dominici recomposed the whole, and printed the
^metamorphosis at Venice in 1545 : of this, several
editions appeared ; but it neither supplanted Berni's, nor
even rivalled the original in popularity. Thus the love
and madness of Orlando was conceived, and partly
executed, by one mind ; continued to a certain point by
another ; new-modelled and incorporated wvith his own
inventions by a third ; re-written by a fourth ; but, above
all, imitated, completed, and excelled by a fifth.
The felicity of fortune which distinguished Ariosto's
poem, was not less rare than the eccentric transmigra-
tions to which Boiardo's was condemned. The Cf Or-
lando Furioso" was both an imitation and a sequel of
the " Orlando Innamorato ; " yet, contrary to all prece-
dent, and without example in subsequent literature, the
imitation surpassed the original, and the sequel the
first draught. It was the offspring of one mind; it
was produced entire by the inventor, and never altered
ARIOSTO. 251
by any hand but his own. Yet, after its first com-
pletion, it underwent a process of revisal nearly as long
and laborious as that of composition ; like a bird, it
arrived not at the perfection of its song, or the full
glory of its plumage, in the breeding season, nor till
after its first moulting. It is strange, that, with all
these advantages, there should still remain several glaring
inconsistencies, which one hour's pains would have re-
moved, had the author been aware of what any ordinary
reader might detect. <
The poem consists of the contemporaneous adventures
of many knights, ladies, and other personages, travelling
in all lands, known and unknown, of the old continent,
the moon, hell, and purgatory ; those of each individual,
in fact,' forming a distinct story, begun, dropped, re-
newed, or concluded according to the pleasure of the
narrator, who excites and keeps up, by every species of
provoking artifice, the tortured yet unwearying curiosity
of his hearers. And these materials, anomalous as they
may seem, and as they are, he moulds and mixes with
inimitable skill, and bodies them forth, as by magic,
into such captivating forms, by varying, interweaving,
disentangling, and cutting short the numberless threads
of his many-coloured web, that he fails not to produce
a present effect in every passage, with little recollection
on the reader's part of its agreement with the past,
as little regard to its connection with any thing but it-
self, and no care whatever about its future influence on
the issue of the whole. The fable is a hydra, of which
the Orlando, whose name it bears, is only one of the
heads ; and no otherwise entitled to pre-eminence, than
as the hero of some of the most stupendous, amusing,
and puerile events in a series not less heterogeneous or
tragi-comic than the changes and chances of a holiday
pantomime. It cannot be denied that the poem has
a beginning and an end, with a prodigious quantity of
action between, as the succession of pages, and the num-
ber of cantos, evince ; but to prove that it has a necessary
beginning, a decided progress, and a satisfactory end,
252 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
would be a task which the author himself would have
laughed to see a critic employed upon.
A hundred rivers springing from one well-head upon
a mountain-top above the clouds ; descending, as the
slope broadens, in as many directions ; and varying to-
wards the lowlands with such sinuosities, that whoever
traces one stream, will find it suddenly . disappearing
under ground ; another emerging at that very point,
traversing the surface in a contrary direction for a
while, then dipping in like manner ; while a third, a
fourth, a fifth, and onward to the hundredth, in succes-
sion, do the same ; each, in the track of the untiring
explorer, showing itself and vanishing again and again,
till utterly lost ; — such are the vagaries of this romance
of imagination, yet conducted in such organised confu-
sion, that the mind is bewildered but for a moment,
when a fresh ee change comes o'er the spirit of the
(poet's) dream," and the reader is absorbed, borne
away, and contented to float along the tide of the tale,
unfinished before, then newly taken up, and never
flagging in interest, nor eventually impaired by all its
abrupt discontinuances.
Incoherent, however, as the whole tissue of this and
every other romance of chivalry must be, there is a
moral interest in such fables, that lies deeper than any
affected allegory, or the innocent gratification which
marvellous stories will ever supply to human minds,
loving and grasping at whatever is beyond their reach ;
an appetite for the great, the glorious, and the unknown,
which intimates their spiritual nature, and their im-
mortal destiny, by desires towards things out of the
body, independent of the material universe, and con-
trary to the results of ordinary experience. These
fictions, notwithstanding their unnatural and impossible
details, picture real manners, characters, and events,
such as were peculiar to the transition-age of modern
society, in the most civilised regions of the Old World,
when the blood of Goths and Vandals from the north,
Greeks and Romans from the south of Europe, Moors
AR10STO. 253
from the west of Africa, and Arabs from the east of
Asia, mingled in confluent streams round the shores of the
Mediterranean ; when, often engaging in war, commerce,
or political alliances, they gradually associated their
races, and originated new nations according to their
respective localities. Hence the superstitions, customs.,
languages, and habits of life among the most heteroge-
neous tribes, bordering on the fallen empire of the Cae-
sars (their common prey), were engrafted upon those of
the refined and intellectual people whom luxury had
effeminated and prepared for subjugation by more en-
terprising and energetic, though at best but semi-bar-
barian, conquerors. Hence we frequently find, in chi-
valrous records, the most gross and incongruous stories
of Oriental, African, or Scandinavian growth, allied to
archetypes in classical mythology, or derived from an-
cient history ; and only modified, enriched, distorted,
or aggravated in grandeur, complexity, or terrible
beauty, by those who adopted them, — the rhymers
and romancers, even in the rudest periods, blending
all together, or borrowing from each, according to
their fancy. There is scarcely an image, a monster,
or an incident in all their raving chronicles — wild
as the dreams of lunatics, or beautiful as those of in-
fants are supposed to be — which cannot be traced to
Homer, Virgil, Ovid, Lucan, or Statius ; so narrow is
the range of human invention ; and so inextricably con-
nected with what we have heard, and read, and seen,
are all the imaginations or the thoughts of the heart of
the most original genius.
But the champions and the damsels, the giants and
enchanters, nay, the dragons, the hippogriffs, and the
demons themselves, in these legends, are but poetical
representations of real classes and characters in society,
such as existed, or were formed by the circumstances
of the times, when war was the business, and gallantry
the pastime of life, among the hybrid populations both
of Christian and Mohammedan countries. The actors in
the dramas of romance were, indeed, masked and buskined
254 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
to raise them to heroic stature ; yet the most disguised of
these personages, in principle., passion, taste, and pur-
suit, were real men and women, magnified into mon-
sters, like flies and spiders when looked upon through
the eye-glass of a microscope. Orlando was but an
exaggeration of the chevalier Bayard, as was the British
Arthur of the English Richard, and Charlemagne him-
self of Francis I.
Ariosto, in following the fashion of contemporaries,
lighted upon a theme to which his wayward and ver-
satile genius was peculiarly adapted, and which gave it
an opportunity of displaying all its peculiarities to the
utmost advantage. Of these, the most enviable and
least imitable is that perfection of art, which he
perhaps possessed beyond every other writer, to say
things naturally. All his wonders and prodigies are
made so easy and probable, that to the most fastidious
reader, who does not resolutely resist the spell of the
poet, and deprive himself of the pleasure of being be-
guiled by it, they appear as they would do if they
were actual events, from the daylight effect of his truth-
telling style ; for whenever his delight in the extra-
vagant carries him beyond the legitimately marvellous,
he disarms resentment, and prevents the laugh against
himself by a quiet pleasantry, — becoming himself the
Cervantes of his own Quixotes. Satirists, however,
have done little to improve mankind : they have con-
demned and promoted vice ; they have ridiculed and
recommended folly. Instead of being the most chaste,
severe, and instructive, it is notorious that (with few
exceptions) they have been the most profligate, perni-
cious, and corrupting of all writers. Many of the most
illustrious deserve to be crowned and decapitated, and
their laurelled heads fixed on poles round the heights of
Parnassus, as warnings to others, while they affect to
expose sin, not to betray virtue ; and while they de-
claim against lewdness, not to become panders to de-
bauch the young, the innocent, and the unsuspecting.
To go no farther than the example before us. If ever
ABIOSTO. 255
man deserved poetical honours, Ariosto did; and if
ever poet deserved the curse of posterity for the prosti-
tution of high talents, Ariosto does. Without pre-
suming to judge him, even for his worst offences,
beyond the present world, it had been better for many
of his readers, — why should we not say, at once, for all
of them ? — that he had never been born. Whatever
be her beauty, his Muse has a cancerous sore upon her
face, which cannot be looked upon without loathing by
any eye, not wilfully blind, where it ought to be eagle-
sighted.
256
MACHIAVELLI.
1469—1522.
THERE is no more delightful literary task than the
justify ing a hero or writer, who has been misrepresented
and reviled ; but such is human nature, or such is the
small progress that we have made in the knowledge of
it, that in most instances we excuse, rather than excul-
pate, and display doubts instead of bringing forward
certainties. Machiavelli has been the object of much
argument, founded on the motives that impelled him to
write his celebrated treatise of the <e Prince/' which he
declares to be a manual for sovereigns, and Rousseau
has named the manual of republicans. The question
of whether he sat down in cold blood, and as approving
them, or whether he wrote in irony, the detestable
maxims he boldly and explicitly urges, has been dis-
puted by many. Voltaire has joined in the cry against
him, begun by our countryman cardinal Pole. It is a
curious question, to be determined only by the author
himself. We must seek in the actions of his life, and
in his letters, for a solution of the mystery. Ample ma-
terials are afforded, and if we are unable to throw a
clear light on the subject, at least we shall adduce all
the evidence, and, after summing it up impartially, leave
the jury of readers to decide.
The family of Machiavelli carried back its origin to
the ancient marquesses of Tuscany, and especially to a
marquis Ugo, who flourished about the year 850, who
was the root whence sprung various nobles, who pos-
sessed power over territories, which the growing state
of Florence speedily encroached upon. The Machia-
velli were lords of Montespertoli ; but preferring the
rank of citizens of a prosperous city, to the unprofitable
preservation of an illustrious ancestry, they submitted
MACHIAVELLI. 25?
to the laws of Florence, for the sake of enjoying the
honours which the republic had to bestow. The Ma-
chiavelli belonged to that portion of the Guelph party
which abandoned their native town in 1260, after the
defeat of Monteaperti. Being afterwards re-estab-
lished in their country, they enjoyed thirteen times the
rank of gonfaloniere of justice, an office corresponding
to the better known one of doge, except that it was an
annual magistrature ; and fifty-three different members
of the family were elected priors, another of the highest
offices of government.
Niccolo Machiavelli was born in Florence on the 3d 1469.
of May, 1469; his father was jurisconsult and treasurer
of the march, and by aid of these offices, maintained in
some degree the lustre of his family, which was ob-
scured by the poverty into which it had fallen. His
mother Bartolomea, daughter of Stefano Nelli, was
equally well descended. Her family derived itself from
the ancient counts of Borgonuovo of Fucecchio, who
flourished in the tenth century, and her ancestors had
been elected to the highest offices in the Florentine state.
She had been previously married to Niccolo Benizzi,
and was distinguished for her cultivated understanding
and talent for poetry.
Nothing is known of the childhood and education of
Machiavelli. Paul Jovius wishes to prove that he
scarcely understood Latin, but this opinion finds no
credit : Paul Jovius is a writer, whose celebrity is
founded on his unblushing falsehoods and baseless ca-
lumnies * : he was sold to the Medici, and attacked
without scruple, and with a total disregard for truth,
those persons who were inimical to them. At the age 1494.
of five and twenty, Machiavelli was placed as secretary ^Etat.
under Marcello di Virgilio de' Adriani, or, as he is com- 25.
monly called, Marcellus Virgil, whose pupil he had for-
merly been. Marcellus Virgil had been at one time
* Baldclli
VOL. I. S
258 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
professor of Latin and Greek, and was now one of the
chief officers of the Florentine court of chancery. Paul
Jovius gives Machiavelli the name of his clerk and
copyist, and adds, that, from this master, he obtained
those flowers of ancient learning which are interspersed
in his works. Nothing is at once more base and futile
than these attempts to degrade celebrated men, by im-
peaching their station in society, or adventitious ac-
quirements. It only serves to display the detractor's
malice, and to render more conspicuous the merit which
could triumph over every disadvantage.
There is no trace of Machiavelli's taking any part in
the political disturbances of Florence at this time. The
city was then agitated by the pretensions and turbulence
of the prophet Salvanorola. There is a letter extant of his,
which gives some account of the preaching and denuncia-
tions of the ambitious friar, which shows that, if he did
not belong to the party opposed to him, he was, at least,
not duped by his impostures * : — " In my opinion,"
he says, " he temporises and gives to his falsehoods the
Mar. colour of the occasion." -The disposition of Machia-
8. velli was observing and industrious ; his ambition was
1497. under the rule of judgment, and his hopes fixed on
"^ • the favour he might secure from the heads of govern-
ment. For five of the best years of his life he was
content to exercise the unostentatious functions of se-
cretary to an officer of chancery, nor were any of his
writings composed at this period : they were the fruits
of thought and experience, and there is nothing to tell
us, that, as a young man, he was warmed by that self-
confidence and restless aspiration, which he displayed
in maturer life. It may be supposed, however, that
his employer, Marcellus Virgil, distinguished his talents
and recommended them to observation, as they were
both promoted at the same time, Marcellus being elected
high chancellor, and Machiavelli preferred over four
other candidates, to the post of chancellor of the second
* Let Fam. it
MACHIAVELLI. 259
court. A month afterwards he was*named secretary to 1498
the council of ten (the chief council of the state), which
situation he retained till the revolution, which, four- "
teen years afterwards, overthrew the government he
served.
During this period, Machiavelli pursued an active
career : he was continually employed on missions to
various sovereigns and states. His letters to his
government on these occasions are published, and he
wrote besides brief surveys of the countries to which he
was sent. His active and enquiring mind was conti-
nually on the alert, and he stored up with care the ob-
servations and opinions that resulted from the personages
and scenes with which he was brought into contact,
Italy was at this time in a state of convulsion, torn 1492.
by foreign armies and domestic quarrels : the peace of
the peninsula had died with Lorenzo de' Medici. That
sagacious statesman saw the safety of his country in the
preservation of the balance of power among its several
rulers. It was his endeavour to check the encroachments
of the king of Naples and the pope, who ruled southern
Italy, by the influence of the duke of Milan, and of the
Venetian republic ; while these again were prevented
from attempting war with Florence, or trespassing on
the smaller states of Romagna, by the jealousy of the
sovereigns of the south. For many years no foreign
army had crossed the Alps, and the battles of the con-
dottieri became more and more innoxious.
This fine system of policy fell to the ground on the
death of Lorenzo. His son Piero, who succeeded him,
was a rash, impolitic, and feeble statesman, defying
dangers till they were close at hand, and then yielding
weakly to them. He had not feared to make an enemy
of Ludovico Sforza, who reigned over Milan in the
name of his nephew Giovan Galeazzo, the rightful duke.
Ludovico wished to play the old part of his wicked
uncle, and to supplant the youthful prince; but he feared
to be prevented by the king of Naples. To occupy and
s 2
260 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
weaken him, he invited Charles VIII. of France into
Italy, instigating him to assert his right to the Nea-
politan crown, which he claimed through Rene, who
inherited it, together with the counties of Anjou and
Provence. This was the origin of all the evils which
overwhelmed Italy, crushed its spirit of liberty, de-
stroyed its republics, and after making it a field of
battle for many years, caused it in the end to become
a mere appanage to the crowns of Germany, Spain, or
France, according as these kingdoms enjoyed alternately
the supreme power in Europe.
1493. The entrance of the French into Italy caused great
commotion in the city of Florence. It was considered
by Lorenzo to be the policy of the Florentines to keep
allies of the king of France : but Piero acted a thought-
less and unstable part ; he at first opposed the French,
and then threw himself into their hands. The Flo-
rentines were enraged at the sacrifices he made to pacify
an enemy which he had brought upon himself, and the
result was his expulsion from the city, and the pver-
throw and exile of the Medicean family.
Charles VIII. overran Italy, and possessed himself of
the kingdom of Naples without drawing a sword, except
to massacre the defenceless people. The Italians were
accustomed to a mild system of warfare ; they carried
on their military enterprises by condottieri, or captains
of independent bands of soldiers, who hired themselves
to the best bidder. These condottieri consisted of fo-
v reign adventurers, who came into Italy on the specu-
lation of turning their military talents to profit, or of
the minor native princes, or lords of single towns, who
augmented their consequence and revenue *by raising
troops, commanded by themselves, but paid by others.
These mercenaries were inspired by no spirit of patriot-
ism or party ; they fought for pay and booty ; they
changed sides at the beck of their captain, who was
influenced by the highest offer. They fought to-day
side by side with men whom the next they might attack
as enemies : they fought, therefore, in a placid spirit of
MACHIAVELLI. 26l
friendly enmity ; often not a single soldier fell upon the
field of battle. Add to this, they were very indifferently
provided with fire-arms. The ferocity of the French,
their artillery, discipline, and massacres, filled the un-
warlike population with alarm and horror. They fled,
or submitted without a blow. But Charles lost his
conquest almost as soon as he gained it ; he returned to
France, and the crown of Naples fell from his head at
the same moment.
His death followed soon after; and his successor,
Louis XII., on turning his* eyes to Italy, rather fixed
them on the duchy of Milan, to which he had preten-
sions by right of inheritance. His conquest of this 1498.,
dukedom was speedy and complete, and he then pro-
ceeded to possess himself of Naples. The king then
reigning, Frederic of the house of Arragon, called
in the Spaniards to his aid, and he was crushed in the
collision of the two warlike nations. He was banished
Naples and confined in France, while Louis and Fer-
dinand at first amicably divided, and then hostilely
fought for, the possession of his kingdom.
Meanwhile the first entrance of Charles VIII. into 1501.
Italy had left the seeds of discord and disaster in Tus- --JEtat,
cany. Pisa was. at that time under the rule of Florence, 32>
but repining at its servitude. When Charles entered
Pisa, its citizens implored him to restore to them their
independence : he promised to comply ; and though
afterwards he made treaties to a contrary effect with
Florence, the Pisans profited by his secret inclination
in their favour, and the sympathy afforded them by the
officers and men that composed his army, to shut their
gates against their Florentine governors, and to assert
their liberty. From this time it became the ardent
desire of Florence to subdue the rebel city ; they ex.
hausted all their resources in prosecution of this favour-
ite object. Each year they attacked the walls, and
destroyed the crops, of the unfortunate but resolute
Pisans ; and, in each treaty they made with France, the
chief article was a promise of aid in this desired con-
s 3
262 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN,
1500- quest. At one time they formed the siege of
•<Etat. and solicited Louis XII. to supply them with troopt
3I> and artillery. That politic sovereign, who wished to
strengthen himself in Italy, sent them douhle the force
they required. These auxiliaries, composed of Swiss
and Gascons, pillaged both friends and foes, quarrelled
with the Florentine commissaries, came to a secret un-
derstanding with Pisa, and, finally, on a pretence of a
delay of pay, raised the siege. The king of France
accused Florence of heing the cause of this affront sus-
tained by his arms ; and, to appease him, and to obtain,
if possible, further assistance, the republic deputed
Francesco della Caza, and Machiavelli, as envoys to the
French court.
A year before Machiavelli had been employed on a
mission to Caterina Sforza, countess of Forli, with re-
gard to the terms of engagement offered to her son, for
serving Florence as condottiere ; but the legation to
France was of greater importance. The commissions,
or instructions of the government to Machiavelli, and
his letters to the state during this and all his other
missions, are published. They are long and minute,
but far less tedious than such correspondences usually
are; and the reading them is indispensable to the form-
ing; a just notion of his character, and a view of the
actions of his life. There is something curiously in-
teresting in the style of his instructions on the present
occasion ; they display a civic simplicity of manners
and language, and a sagacity in viewing the personages
and events in question, combined with true Italian astute
policy. Guicciardini observes, that when the French
first entered Italy, they were astonished and disgusted
by the want of faith and falsehood which prevailed in,
their negotiations with the native princes and states.
In this commission the Florentine government gave
instructions to their envoys savouring of the prevalent
vice of their country. The commander of the French
forces before Pisa, Beaumont, had been appointed at
their own request : he failed without any fault of his1
MACHIAVELLI. 263
own, through the insubordination of the troops under
him. The state of Florence instructed its envoys : —
ft According to circumstances you may accuse him vio-
lently, and cast on him the imputation of cowardice and
corruption ; or free him from all blame, and, speaking
honourably of him, throw all the fault upon others.
And take care how you criminate him, as we do not
wish to lose his favour, without gaining any thing else-
where by such a proceeding.''
Machiavelli and his fellow envoy remained in France
three months, following the king and his court to Mont-
argis, Melun, Plessis, and Tours. They were faithful
and industrious in fulfilling their duties, especially
Machiavelli ; Francesco della Caza being taken ill, and
spending the greater part of his time at Paris. They
failed in their object : the king wishing Florence to
engage troops from him on the same terms, of paying
all the expenses, and the Florentines wishing to induce
him to form the siege at his own risk, reimbursing him
only in case of success. Machiavelli meanwhile was
very desirous to return home ; " because," he writes,
<c my father died only a month before my departure,
and since then I have lost a sister, and all my affairs
are in disorder, so that I am injured in many ways."
Towards the end of October, Florence sent an ambas-
sador with greater powers to the French court, and the
envoys returned to Italy.
His next legation was to Caesar Borgia. It is ne-
cessary to enlarge upon this mission. The great doubt
that clouds Machiavelli's character regards the spirit in
which he wrote the " Prince," — whether he sincerely
recommended the detestable principles of government
which he appears to advocate, or used the weapons of
irony and sarcasm to denounce a system of tyranny
which then oppressed his native country. The ex-
ample he brings forward most frequently in his treatise,
is that of Caesar Borgia : his mode of governing his
states, and the artifice and resolution with which he de-
stroyed his enemies, are adduced as worthy of applause
s 4
264 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
and imitation. We must, therefore, not only enquire
what the deeds of this man were, but endeavour to dis-
cover the real sentiments of Machiavelli, the opinion
that he formed upon his conduct, and the conclusions
which he drew from his success. We' may also men-
tion that the secretary has been accused of being Borgia's
confidant in his plots. Mr. Roscoe has lightly adopted
this idea ; but the course of the present narration will
easily disprove it. :•» .<
Soon after the death of Lorenzo de' Medici, died
Innocent VIII. ; and Roderigo Borgia, a native of Va-
lentia in Spain, and one of the most ancient of the
cardinals, was chosen pope in his room. His election
was carried by force of bribery and intrigue, to the
horror and amazement of the whole Christian world ;
since not only the methods by which he rose were known,
but also the character and actions of the man thus
exalted.* The new pontiff assumed the name of Alex-
ander VI. " He was a man," to use the words of
Guicciardini, " of singular prudence and sagacity ; en-
dued with great penetration, and marvellous powers of
persuasion, and always acting with extreme forethought
and policy. But these good qualities were darkly clouded
by the worst vices. His depraved life, his total want
of shame, his contempt for good faith, religion, and
truth, his matchless deceit, insatiable avarice, barbarous
cruelty, and unbounded desire to exalt his numerous
offspring, who were not less dissolute and unprincipled
than himself, stained his character, and marked his
reign with inexpressible infamy."
Caesar Borgia, his younger son, had been educated
for the church ; and, despite his illegitimate birth, was
raised to the rank of cardinal. But Caesar disliked the
sacerdotal profession, and was jealous of his elder
brother, the duke of Candia, whom his father was de-
sirous of raising to the highest temporal rank, both
because of his success in arms, and also on account of
the preference shown him by their sister Lucretia. In.
* Guicdiardinu
HACHIAVELLI. 265
cited by these criminal passions, he one night caused
the duke to be waylaid, murdered, and thrown into the
Tiber. The pope was at first overwhelmed with grief
on his son's death, and made great show of repentance
. and reformation ; but soon after he cast aside all thoughts
of this kind, and returned with renewed eagerness to
his former pursuits and projects. Caesar gained the
point at which he aimed. He was permitted to abdicate
the cardinal's hat ; and, in reward for the dispensation
which the pope granted Louis XII. to divorce his first
wife, and to marry Anne of Britany, he obtained the
duchy of Valence in France, and henceforth was com-
monly called by the name of the duca Valentino, or
Valentian duke.
It was the chief ambition of this new temporal noble
to form a principality in Italy. The territories of the
marquisate of Savoy, of the duchy of Milan, and of the
Venetian republic, embraced the greater portion of the
peninsula north of the Apennines. To the south, the
kingdom of Naples, Rome, and the republic of Florence,
were the principal states; but other territories remained,
a sovereignty over which was claimed by the popes, but
which obeyed a variety of petty lords, whose families
had for centuries enjoyed the rule. The various cities
of Romagna to the east, Bologna to the north, Piombino
to the west, and Perugia to the south, formed the chief:
of these Caesar Borgia resolved to possess himself, ex-
tending a prophetic eye to the future conquest of Tus-
cany. Already he had acquired dominion over Romagna :
he dispossessed the duke of Urbino and the prince of
Piombino of their states, and now he turned his eyes
towards Bologna. Giovanni Bentivoglio had long been
lord of this wealthy city ; good fortune, rather than
talents or a spirit of enterprise, had raised him, and he
spared no blood in confirming his power. Caesar Borgia
was supported in his encroachments by an alliance with
Louis XII. In vain was it represented to this mon-
arch *, " that it ill became the splendour of the French
* Guicciardini.
266 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
crown, and the title of most Christian king, to show
favour to an infamous tyrant, the destroyer] of many
states ; a man who thirsted for human blood, and was
an example to the whole world of perfidy and inhu-
manity; who, like a public robber, had broken faith
with and murdered so many princes and nobles ; one
stained with the Mood of his nearest kindred, and whose
crimes of poisoning and stabbing were unequalled in a
Christian country." Louis favoured him, not so much
from his own inclination, as at the instigation of the
cardinal d'Amboise, who was desirous of currying'favour
with the pope ; and who, by protecting his son, obtained
the high office of legate to France.
At the moment of the commencement of his attack
on Bologna, while running a full career of success,
Caesar Borgia received a check from the revolt of his
chief condottieri. Like all the other princes of Italy,
the army of the duke of Valence consisted of various
bands, independent of each other, and obeying several
distinct captains. The chief among these were Vitel-
lozzo Vitelli,, lord of Citta Castello, Oliverotto da Fermo,
in the March, and Paolo Orsino, who was master of a
large portion of the patrimony of St. Peter, and the
duke of Gravina, also of the Orsini family. These men
assembled at Magione, near Perugia ; they were joined
in their consultations by cardinal Orsini, chief of the
family, and then at enmity with the pope; Giovanpaolo
Baglioni, lord of Perugia, Hermes Bentivoglio, who re-
presented his father, lord of Bologna, and Antonio da
Venafro, minister of Pandolfo Petrucci, lord of Siena.
These last-named nobles feared the encroachments of
Borgia, and gladly availed themselves of an opportunity
to seduce away his captains, and to check his enterprises.
It is to be remembered that the individuals thus con-
spiring were men stained with the crimes of treachery
and assassination, then so rife in Italy — men whose
aim was power, and who thought every method that led
to it justifiable. For Caesar ran no new career of crime:
he travelled in the same path with many of his con-
MACHIAVELLI. 4 26?
temporaries, while he excelled them all in resolution,
intrepidity, and remorseless cruelty : his abilities were
greater, his conscience more seared. Inhuman, stern,
and treacherous, he was yet sagacious, eloquent, cour-
teous, and plausible. It was a common saying at Rome,
that the pope never did what he said, and that his son
never said what he did. * Prudence and success mean-
while gained for him the respect even of those by whom
he was abhorred.
The conspirators at Magione were at once aware of
the character of the man with whom they had to deal;
and the small faith they could repose in each other ;
but they saw their destruction in the fulfilment of
Borgia's ambitious schemes ; and this served as a com-
mon bond between them. They took care to gather
together their troops, and, occupying the country be-
tween Romagna and Rome, they hoped to prevent
Caesar from receiving aid from his father. The duke of
Urbino, whose duchy Borgia had lately seized, joined
the league, and suddenly appearing at the head of some
forces, repossessed himself of his territories, in which
he was greatly beloved. Borgia was at Imola with but
few troops when he heard of the loss of Urbino, and
the revolt of his captains. These men invited the
Florentines to join them. The republic feared Borgia,
but they hated yet more the conspirators, as there
existed between them various and urgent motives of
enmity : they feared also to displease the king of France
by taking part against his ally. They discountenanced,
therefore, the advances of the captains, and sent Machia-
velli to the duke at Imola, to inform him of this cir-
cumstance, and to assure him in general terms of their
continued amity ; and, moreover, to watch the progress
of the conspiracy, and to learn what hope Borgia en-
tertained of repelling the menaced injury.
Machiavelli approached without any feeling of ab- 1502.
horrence, a man honoured and protected by the king -32tat.
of France. He had no sympathy with the conspirators, 33>
* Guicciardini.
268
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
but rather hated them, as the enemies of his country, and
as traitors. Borgia commanded more respect. He was
a man of greater powers of mind ; a high and com-
manding spirit, running a prosperous career, who had
hitherto overcome every obstacle to his advancement.*
It was a curious study to observe the methods he would
use to crush the nest of traitors in league against him.
Machiavelli arrived at Imola on the 7th of October,
and was instantly admitted to an audience with the
duke. Borgia received him with every show of cour-
tesy and kindness. He was in high spirits, declaring
that the stars that year were inimical to rebels, and that
the revolt was a piece of good fortune, since it enabled
him to distinguish his friends from his foes, at a critical
moment. He declared that his clemency had been the
cause of this disaster, and frankly entered into details
concerning the progress made by the confederates.
From day to day Machiavelli continued to see and
converse with Borgia, who exerted the grace of manner
for which he was renowned, and a show of cordiality,
to win the suffrage of the yet inexperienced secretary.
" I cannot express to you," Machiavelli writes to his
government, " the earnest demonstrations he makes of
affection towards the republic, and how eagerly he jus-
tifies himself with regard to his threatened attack last
year, throwing the blame upon Vitellozzo Vitelli."
Borgia's chief endeavour at this moment was to influence
the secretary to persuade his government to give some
public testimonial of its attachment to him. He spoke
with the utmost confidence of his ultimate success;
assuring Machiavelli, that among the many fortunate
events that had befallen him, this conspiracy was most
lucky of all, as it had caused his more powerful friends
to declare for him.
Meanwhile, though he thus " vaunted aloud," he was
acting with consummate prudence and caution. His
object was to gain time. He wished to remain inactive
till he had gathered together a sufficient number of troops
* Lettere di Machiavelli, Legazione al Duca Valentino.
MACHIAVELLI. 26<)
to insure success. He was at one time thwarted in
this purpose by two Spanish captains in his pay, whom
he had summoned to Imola ; who, fancying that a good
opportunity presented itself of attacking the enemy, had
themselves been vanquished and put to flight. Borgia
kept this disaster as secret as possible; he expected
troops from France and Switzerland, and gathered to-
gether all the broken-off lances in the country. A lance
was a term used to signify a mounted cavalier with five
or six followers ; and the condottiere formed a greater
or less number of lances into a troop. But often single
cavaliers with their followers broke off from the band
to which they belonged, and were thence called Lancie
Spezzate.
Besides these more evident methods of defending
himself, Borgia hoped that dissention might be intro-
duced among the confederates.; that he should be able to
entice away a portion, and then, by policy and artifice,
bring them to terms. His hopes were not deceived.
About the middle of October, Paolo Orsino sent to say,
that if the duke would send a hostage in pledge for his
safety, he would repair to Imola. Caesar eagerly seized .
on this opening for negotiation ; cardinal Borgia was put
into the hands of the confederates, and Paolp Orsino
arrived at Imola on the 25th of October. Machiavelli
watched with intense interest the progress of this visit,
and the subsequent proceedings. 4 " No military move-
ment is made on either side," he writes to the signoria
of Florence, " and these treaties for reconciliation benefit
the duke, who readily entertains them ; but I cannot
judge with what intentions." He goes on to state the
difficulties that must stand in the way of the renewing
of amity ; " so that," he continues, " I do not find
any one who can guess how the reconciliation can be
effected. Some people think that the duke will entice
away a part of the confederates; and when they no
longer hold together, he will cease to fear them. I in
cline to this opinion, having heard him let fall words
that have this tendency to his ministers. Yet it is
270 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
difficult to believe that so recent a confederacy can be
broken up."
Borgia took great pains to preserve Machiavelli's pre-
possession in favour of his good fortune and success.
He pressed him to bring his government to decisive
measures in his favour. He caused his ministers to
urge those topics which would come more gracefully
through a third person. These men besieged the
secretary's ear with confidential advice. They assured
him that Florence was losing an admirable opportunity
for securing the duke's friendship ; they represented
what a fortunate, high-spirited man he was, accus-
tomed to success, and despising his present dangers.
Machiavelli sent minute details of these conversations
to his government, adding, " Your lordships hear the
words which the duke uses, and, knowing who it is that
speaks, you will draw conclusions with your accustomed
prudence." On another occasion he recounts a long
conversation he held with Borgia, who showed him
letters received from France, which assured him of the
friendship of its powerful monarch. " I have often told
you," Csesar continued, " and again I say, that I shall
not be without assistance. The French cavalry and the
Swiss infantry will soon arrive, and the pope will supply
me with money. I do not wish to boast, nor to say
more than that it is probable that my enemies will re-
pent their perfidy. As to your masters, I cannot be
more satisfied with them than I am ; so that you may
offer them on my part all that it is in my power to do.
When you first came, I spoke in general terms, because
my affairs were in so bad a condition that I did not
know on what ground I stood, and I did not wish your
government to think that danger made me a large
promiser. But now that I fear less, I promise more ;
and when my fears are quite at an end, deeds • shall be
added to my words, when there is call for them."
ff Your lordships," continues Machiavelli, fe hear the
duke's words, of which I do not put down one half;
and, knowing the manner of man, can judge accordingly.
MACHIAVELLI. 271
Since I have been here, nothing but good has happened
to him ; which has been caused by the certainty that
every one feels that the king of France will help him
with troops, and the pope with money."
Machiavelli was evidently filled with high admiration
of Borgia's talents, and won by his persuasive manners.
There is abundant proof, however, that he did not pos-
sess his confidence. He was perpetually soliciting
to be recalled : — " For the time is past," he writes,
" for temporising, and a man of more authority than I
is needed to conclude this treaty. My own affairs are
also in the greatest disorder, nor can I remain here
without money." The Florentine government thought
otherwise ; they determined to await the developement
of events before they concluded any treaty.
These were hastening onwards to a catastrophe.
Borgia by this time had collected a considerable force
together of French, Swiss, and Italians ; but he was
willing to overcome his adversaries by other arts than
those of war. The confederates, from weakness or fear,
or by force of Borgia's persuasive eloquence, were won
to agree to a treaty of reconciliation. After some
parley, it was signed early in the month of November :
the terms consisted principally of renewed professions
of perpetual peace, concord, and union; with a re-
mission and forgetfulness of injuries; the duke pro-
mising a sincere renewal of friendship, and the con-
federates pledging themselves to defend the duke. He
was to continue to them their engagements as con-
dottieri, and they were to assist him to recover the
duchy of Urbino. It was agreed that one only of the
confederates at a time should be called on to remain in
the duke's camp, and in his power ; but they promised
to deliver to him their children and near relatives as
hostages, whenever they should be demanded. Such is
a sketch of a treaty which dissolved a confederacy so
formidable to Borgia, and placed him, without drawing
a sword, in a position as favourable as when his enemies
first assembled at Magione.
272 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Machiavelli could not be deceived by this apparent
reconciliation ; and he was eager to discover Borgia's
secret* views. Far from being consulted concerning his
plans, he now found it very difficult to obtain an
audience : — " For/' he writes, ' ' they live here only for
their own good, and for that which appears to them to
contribute to it. Paolo Orsini arrived yesterday, bring-
ing the articles ratified^ and subscribed by Vitellozzo
and all the other confederates ; and he endeavours, as
well as he can, to persuade the duke, that they all mean
to be faithful, and to undertake any enterprise for him.
The duke appears satisfied. Vitellozzo also writes
grateful and submissive letters, excusing himself and
making / offers ; and saying, that if he had an opportu-
nity to speak to him, he could fully justify himself,
and show that what he had done was without any in-
tention of injuring him. The duke listens to all ; and
what he means to do no one knows, for it is very dif-
ficult to penetrate him. Judging by his words and
those of his chief ministers, it is impossible not to ex-
pect evil for others, for the injury done him has been
great ; and his conversation, and that of those around
him, is full of indignation against Vitellozzo.* One
spoke to me yesterday, who is the man nearest the
duke, saying, ' This traitor has stabbed us, and now
thinks to heal the wound with words, but children
might laugh at the articles of this treaty.' "
The treaty being ratified, it was debated what action
the duke should put the, captains upon. After a good
deal of discussion, it was agreed that they should go
against Sinigaglia, a town belonging to the duke of
' * It must be mentioned, that a great enmity subsisted between the Flo-
rentines and Vitellozzo VitellL His brother, Paolo Vitelli, had commanded
the troops of the republic at one time before Pisa, and was suspected by
them of treachery. They sent for him one night to come to Florence,
and he obeyed without hesitation. On his arrival he was seized, cast into
prison, tortu e.1, and, though no confession could be extorted from him, he
was put to death the same night. It was the intention of the Florentine
government to seize on Vitellozzo also, but he escaped and took refuge in
Pisa Borgia had at one time taken up the cause of the Medici, and
threatened Florence : he now threw the blame of this action upon the
counsels of Vitellozzo.
MACHIAVELLI. 273
Urbino. While this enterprise was under consideration,
Borgia left Imola. Machiavelli writes, on the 10th of
December,, " The duke left this place this morning, and
is gone to Forli with his whole army. To-morrow
evening he will be at Cesena ; but it is not known what
he will do after that ; nor is there any one here who
fancies that he can guess. I shall set out to-morrow,
and follow the court — unwillingly, because I am not
well ; and, in addition to my indisposition, I have
received from your lordships fifty ducats, and I have
spent seventy-two, having only seven left in my purse.
But I must obey necessity."
On the 14th of December, Machiavelli writes, from
Cesena, ce As I before wrote, every one is in suspense with
regard to the duke's intentions, who is here with all his
forces. After many conjectures, they conclude that he
means to get possession of the persons of those who have
so deeply injured, and nearly deprived him of his do-
minions : and although the treaty he has made contra-
dicts this notion, yet his past actions render it probable ;
and I am of this opinion from what I have heard and
reported in my letters. We shall see what will happen ;
and I will do my duty in acquainting you with all that
passes while I remain here : which cannot be long ;
for, in the first place, I have only four ducats left in
my purse ; and in the second, my further stay is of no
utility. To speak to your lordships with the truth
which I have always practised, it would be better if you
sent a person of more reputation to treat of your affairs :
I am not fit, as they need a more eloquent man — one
more known, and who knows the world better than I."
It would seem as if Machiavelli tremblingly foresaw the
tragedy at hand, and wished to withdraw; in fear, per-
haps, of being used as an instrument by Borgia, or
suspected of any participation in his crimes.
On the 23d of December, he reports that the duke
had suddenly dismissed all his French troops. He had
requested an audience, to discover the cause of this
VOL. I. T
274 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC 3IEN.
movement ; but received only an evasive answer, — that
the duke would send for him when he wanted him.
It soon became evident that the ease with which the
confederates fell into Borgia's snares, rendered useless
the armed force he had gathered together for their de-
struction ; and he dismissed an army, the maintaining
of which might excite suspicion.
Again Machiavelli writes, from Cesena, on the 26th
of December, " I have not been able to obtain an au-
dience of the duke, his excellency being engaged in re-
viewing his infantry, and in his pleasures, preparatory
to Christmas. As I have before repeated, this prince
is most secret; nor do I believe that any one except
himself is aware of what he is going to do. His prin-
cipal secretaries have assured me that he never com-
municates any thing till the moment of execution ; and
he executes on the instant: so I hope you will not
accuse me of negligence, in not being able to tell any
thing ; as I know nothing myself."
The catastrophe was now at hand. The captains sent
Borgia word that they had taken Sinigaglia, but that
•the fortress still held out ; nor would the castellan de-
liver the keys to any but the duke in person ; and they
advised him, therefore, to come to receive them.
Thus invited by the captains themselves, Borgia thought
it an excellent opportunity to approach them without
exciting suspicion. With great art he persuaded Vitelli
and Paolo Orsino to wait for him at Sinigaglia, saying
that their suspicion and timidity would render their
reconciliation unstable and short-lived. Vitellozzo felt
how unsafe it was, first to injure a prince, and then to
put trust in him : but he was over-persuaded to remain
by Orsino, whom the duke had corrupted by promises
and gifts. Borgia left Fano on the 30th of December,
and on the following day repaired to Sinigaglia ; and
on the evening of the last day of that month, Machia-
velli wrote a short note to his government from that
town, containing these words only : — "I wrote, the
day before yesterday, from Pesaro, all I had heard con-
MACHIAVELLI. 275
earning Sinigaglia.* I removed yesterday to Fano.
Early this morning, the duke departed with all his
troops, and came here to Sinigaglia, where were as-
sembled all the Orsini and Vitellozzo, who had taken
the town for him. He invited them to come around
him ; and, the moment he entered the town, he turned
to his guard, and caused them to be taken prisoners.
Thus he has secured them all, and the town is being
pillaged. It is now twenty-three o'clock.*)* I am in
the greatest anxiety, not knowing how to forward this
letter, as there is no one to take it. I will write at
length in another. In my opinion, they will not be
alive to-morrow. All their people are also taken ; and
the official notice distributed about, says that the traitors
are arrested."
In another place, Machiavelli gives the details of the
mode in which these men were deluded into trusting
themselves in the hands of one so notorious for perfidy
and sanguinary revenge.^ " On the 30th of December,"
he says, " on setting out from Fano, the duke com-
municated his design to eight of his most faithful fol-
lowers. He committed to their care, that, when Vitel-
lozzo, Paolo Orsino, the duke of Gravina, and Oliverotto
da Fermo should advance to meet him, two of his
friends should take one of them between them ; and that
they should thus continue to guard them till they
reached the house where the duke was to lodge. He
then stationed his troops so as to be near enough to
support him, without exciting suspicion. The confe-
derates, meanwhile, to afford room for the soldiery
which Borgia brought with him, had caused their
own to retire to various castles six miles distant, Oli-
* This letter is lost ; and we are thus deprived of a most interesting link
in the correspondence, and an insight into Machiavelli's feelings. In
it he detailed the half confidence that Borgia at last reposed in him when,
at the moment of execution, there was no longer any necessity for conceal!
ing his intentions.
f Half an hour before sunset : in December, about half after three
o'clock.
J " Account of the Mode in which the Valentian Duke ce.troyed Vi-
tellozzo Vitelli, Paolo Orsino, &c. &c."
276 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
verotto alone retaining his band of 1000 foot and 150
horse. Every thing being thus arranged, Borgia pro-
ceeded to Sinigaglia. Vitellozzo, Paolo Orsino, and the
duke of Gravina came out to meet him, mounted on mules,
and accompanied by a few followers on horseback.
Vitellozzo was unarmed; and his desponding coun-
tenance seemed prophetic of his approaching death. It
was said that he took, as it were, a last leave of his
friends when he left the town ; recommending the
fortunes of his family to the chief among them, and
bidding his nephews bear in mind the virtues of their
race. These three were received cordially by the duke,
and immediately taken in charge, as had been arranged.
Perceiving that Oliverotto da Fermo was not among
them — he having remained with his troop to receive
Borgia in the market-place — he signed to one of his
followers to devise some means to prevent his escape.
This man went instantly to Oliverotto, and advised him
to order his men to repair to quarters immediately,
otherwise their lodgings would be occupied by the band
accompanying the duke. Oliverotto listened to the
sinister counsel, and, unaccompanied, joined Borgia and
the rest on their entrance into the .town. As soon as
they arrived at the duke's palace, the signal was given,
and they were made prisoners." Machiavelli's anti-
cipations were fulfilled nearly to the letter. Vitellozzo
and Oliverotto were strangled in prison the same night.
Paolo Orsino and the duke of Gravina were kept alive
till Borgia heard that the pope had seized on the persons
of the other chiefs of the Orsini family ; when, on the
18th of the January following, they were also strangled
in prison.
On the very day of the execution of this treacherous
and cruel act of revenge, Machiavelli had an audience
with its perpetrator. He writes, " The duke sent for
me at the second hour of night*, and with a most
* Twohoursandahalfafter'sunset. The Italian day of twenty-four hours
ends at dark, i. e. half an hour after sunset ; and then they begin one, two ;
but as they often say, one o'clock after noon, two o'clock alter noon, so
MACHIAVELLI. 2?7
cheerful countenance congratulated himself and me on
his success, saying that he had alluded to it to me the
day before, but not fully explained himself: which is
true. He added many prudent and very affectionate
expressions concerning our city ; alleging all those rea-
sons which made him desire your friendship, if you
entertain the same feelings towards him ; all of which
filled me with exceeding surprise. He concluded by
bidding me write three things to you. First, that I
should congratulate you on his having put to death the
enemies alike of the king of France, you, and himself,
and destroyed every seed of dissention which had threat-
ened to ruin Italy ; for which you ought to be obliged
to him. Secondly, he begged me to entreat you to
make manifest to the world that you were his friends,
and to send forward some troops to assist his attack on
Castello or Perugia."
On the 8th of January, Machiavelli uses expressions
in his letter most characteristic of Italian policy and
morals at that period. " It excites surprise here," he
writes, " that you should not have written nor sent to
congratulate the duke on the deed which he has lately
executed, which redounds to your advantage, and on
account of which our city ought to feel grateful ; they say
that it would have cost the republic 200,000 ducats
to get rid of Vitellozzo and the Orsini, and even then
it would not have been so completely done as by the
duke. It is doubtful what his success will be at Peru-
gia : as, on one side, we find a prince gifted with un-
paralleled good fortune, and a sanguine spirit, more than
human, to accomplish all his desires ; and, on the other
hand, a man of extreme prudence, governing a -state
they designate these evening hours as hours of night. This method of
counting time is still practised by the common people in Italy, south of the
Apennines ; and, indeed, by every one of all ranks at Naples and Rome.
Our mode of counting time is called by the Italians, French time, as it was
first introduced after the conquests of Napoleon. It is often puzzling to
hear of fourteen or fifteen o'clock, — it is necessary to remember the season
of the year, and the hour of sunset, and how far that is oft'. On this oc-
casion, theSlst of December, the second hour of night was about half after
«x o'clock p. M. ; the sun setting at about four in December, in Italy.
T 3
278 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
with great reputation." The secretary adds, with
praiseworthy diffidence, and considerable self-knowledge,
<f If I form a false judgment, it arises not only from
my inexperience, but also from my views being con-
fined to what is going on here, on which I am led to
form the opinions I have expressed above."
The republic now thought it time to replace Machia-
velli by an ambassador of more authority ; and the
secretary returned to Florence at the end of the month
of January.
1503. It is evident from this detail, taken from Machia-
velli's own letters, that he was not intrusted with the
secret of a prince, who, he says, never revealed his
purposes to any one before the moment of execution.
Yet it is also plain that, at last, he began to suspect
the tragedy in preparation; and that neither the an-
ticipation nor the fulfilment inspired him with ab-
horrence for the murderer ; while his contempt of
the confederates, and admiration of the talents and
success of their destroyer, is every where apparent :
nor was this a short-lived feeling. Without mentioning
the (f Prince," in which this act of Borgia is alluded to
with praise, he is mentioned with approbation in se-
veral of his private letters. He wrote " A Description
of the Method used by the Valencian Duke in putting to
death Vitellozzo Vitelli, &c." This is purely narrative,
and contains no word of comment or censure. There is
besides a poem of his, entitled " The Decenal," in which
he proposes to relate the sufferings of Italy during ten
years : in this he mentions the crime of Borgia. ' ' After
the duke of Valence/' he says, " had exculpated him-
self to the king of France, he, returned to Romagna,
with the intention of going against Bologna. It appears
that Vitellozzo Vitelli and Paolo Orsino resolved not
to a'ssist him ; and these serpents, full of venom, began
to conspire together, and to tear him with their talons
and teeth. Borgia, ill able to defend himself, was
obliged to take refuge behind the shield of France; and
to take his enemies by a snare, the basilisk whistled softly,
to allure them to his den. In a short time, the traitor
MACHIAVELLI. 279
of Fermo, and Vitellozzo, and that Orsino who had
been so much his friend, fell readily into his toils ; in
which the Orsino (bear} lost more than a paw ; and
Vitelli was shorn of the other horn (alluding to his
brother's death at Florence as one horn). Perugia and
Siena heard the boast of the hydra, and each tyrant
fled before his fury : nor could the cardinal Orsino
escape the ruin of his unhappy house, but died the
victim of a thousand arts."
It must be mentioned that, notwithstanding individual
acts of ferocity of which Caesar Borgia was guilty, he
was an equitable sovereign — favouring the common
people, and restraining the nobles in their sanguinary
quarrels and extortionate oppression. His subjects were,
therefore, much attached to him. There is an anecdote
relating to his system of government, narrated in the
" Prince," which may be quoted as exceedingly charac-
teristic. It is one of the examples brought forward
by Machiavelli in his treatise, to show how a prince
can prudently consolidate his power in a newly acquired
state. ' ( When the duke had taken Romagna, he found
it governed by feeble lords, who had rather robbed
than corrupted their subjects, and sown discord rather
than preserved peace — so that this province was the prey
of extortion, lawlessness, and all other kind of oppression.
He judged it necessary to govern it strictly, and to
reduce it to obedience and tranquillity. For this pur-
pose he set over it Ramiro d'Orco, a cruel and resolute
man, to whom he confided absolute power. He soon
established order in the province. The duke then judged
that so despotic an authority might become odious ; and
he set up a civil court in the middle of the province,
with an excellent president, at which each city had
its advocate. And because he knew that the former
rigor had generated hatred, to conciliate and win this
people, he wished to prove that the cruelties that had
been practised did not emanate from him, but from the
severity of his minister ; and seizing Ramiro, he caused
him one morning to be placed on a scaffold in the
T 4
280 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
market-place of Cesena, divided in two,, wifh a wooden
block and bloody knife at his side. The horror of which
spectacle caused the people to remain for some time
satisfied and stupid."
This act took place under the very eyes of Machia-
velli, when he was at Cesena with Borgia. He thus
mentions it in his public correspondence : — " Messer
i i Ramiro was found this morning divided in two in the
market-place., where he yet is,, and all the people can
behold him. The cause of his death is not well known,
except that it seemed good to the prince, who shows
that he knows how to make and unmake men at will,
according to their merits."
To us, who cannot sympathise with the high spirit
and good fortune of Borgia, it is consolatory to know
that his triumph was short-lived, and his ruin complete.
It fell to Machiavelli to witness the last scene of his
expiring power, being sent on a legation to Rome at
the time of his downfall.
1503. The duke of Valence was still enjoy ing the complete sue.
cess of his enterprises: courage and duplicity, united, ren-
dered him victorious over all his enemies. He was at
Rome, carrying on a negotiation with the king of France,
which was to extend and secure his power, when suddenly,
Aug. one afternoon, the pope was brought back dead from a
28. vineyard, whither he had gone to recreate himself after
the heats of the day ; and Caesar was also brought back
soon after, to all appearance dying. The story went that
they were both poisoned, having drunk by mistake some
wine prepared by themselves for the destruction of
one of their guests.* The pope's body was exposed
in St. Peter's on the following day, according to
custom ; it was swollen, discoloured, and frightfully dis-
figured. Caesar's youth, and the speedy use he had
made of an antidote, saved his life ; but he remained
for a long time in a state of great suffering and illness.
He told Machiavelli, about this time, that he had foreseen
and provided against every reverse of fortune that could
possibly befall him, except his father dying at a time when
* Guicciardini.
MACHIAVELLI. 281
he should himself be disabled by disease. He could now
enter but ineffectually into the intrigues necessary to en-
sure the election of a pope favourable to himself. Indeed, »»
the death of Alexander was so sudden, that none of the
persons interested found time to exert their resources ;
and a cardinal was raised to the pontifical throne, whose
sole merit consisted in his great age and decrepitude.
Francesco Picoloraini, nephew of Pius II., was pro-
claimed pope on the 22d of September, under the name
of Pius III.
He did not deceive the hopes of the cardinals; — he
reigned twenty-eight days only; and his death, which oc-
curred on the 1 8th of October, left the throne again vacant.
The cardinals, during this interval, had prepared their
measures, and looked forward to a greater struggle and
more important choice. The government of Florence
thought it right to send an envoy, on this occasion, to 1503.
watch over its interests, and to influence consultations -^tat*
which would be held concerning the future destination of
Borgia. He had already lost the greater part of his
conquests: Piombino and Urbino revolted to their former
lords; and nothing remained to him but Romagna, whose
inhabitants he had attached by the firm system of govern-
ment before mentioned. The nobles, however, who
had formerly governed its various towns, were trying to
regain possession of them ; and Venice eyed it as an
easy prey. The popes believed, that by right, it be-
longed to them ; and Borgia had reigned over it as
vassal to the church : this clash of interests led him to
believe that he could induce any future pope to side
with him. The neighbourhood of the cities in question
to Tuscany, rendered it imperative to Florence to watch
over their fate.
Machiavelli was sent by them just before the cardi-
nals entered into conclave — where, without hesitation or
a dissentient' voice, they elected Julian da Rovera, car-
dinal of San Pietro in Vincola, who assumed the name
of Julius II. This prelate had been all his life at open
enmity with Alexander VI.: his disposition was am-
282 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
bitious, restless, fiery, and obstinate; and during the
struggles against the papal power in which he had been
engaged all his life, he had offended many, and excited
the hatred of a number of powerful persons. Above
all, it was to be supposed that Caesar Borgia would
oppose him ; and he exercised great influence over the
Spanish cardinals. But the duke had to contend with
much adversity, so that he had but a choice of evils
before him. During this interval, even Romagna had
fallen from him, with the exception of its fortresses, of
which he possessed the keys. Julian da Rovera made
him large promises ; and in an age when duplicity flou-
lished far and wide, he had been celebrated for his
veracity and good faith; even his old enemy, Alexan-
der VI., declared that the cardinal di San Pietro in Vin-
cola was sincere and trusty.
As soon as the new pope was elected, it was projected
to send Borgia with an army to Romagna, to conquer
it in the name of the holy see. Machiavelli had fre-
quent interviews with the fallen prince at this time,
and appears to have thrown off that admiration which
his success and spirit had formerly inspired; and he
testifies no sympathy or regret in his misfortunes. Borgia
complained of the little friendship shown him by Flo-
rence ; and declared that he would relinquish every other
hope, for the sake of attacking and ruining the republic.
The secretary reports his angry expressions to his go-
vernment, and adds the words of cardinal d'Amboise,
who exclaimed that " God, who never left any crime
unpunished, would not let this man escape with im-
punity I "
The career of this bad hero was now drawing to a
close. In the month of November, he set out in the
middle of the night for Ostia, to the great satisfaction
of all Rome, for the purpose of embarking for Spezia,
with a troop of five hundred men, and then of pro-
ceeding to Romagna. But the pope, who had hitherto
given no mark of an intention to break his promises,
suddenly determined to violate that good faith which had
MACHIAVELLI. 283
formerly adorned his character, and sent the Tuscan cardi-
nal of Volterra (who was of course Borgia's bitter enemy)
after him, to demand an order to the officers who held
the castles in Romagna, that they should be given into
the pope's hands. Borgia refused to comply with a
requisition which deprived him of the last remnant of
his power ; on which he was arrested and placed on
board a French galley. " It is not yet known," Ma-
chiavelli writes to his government on the 26'th of No-
vember, " whether the duke is still on board the vessel,
or brought here. Various things are reported. One person
told me that, being yesterday evening in the pope's cham-
ber, two men arrived from Ostia, when he was immedi-
ately dismissed; but, while in the next room, he overheard
these men say that the duke had been thrown into the
Tiber, as the pope had commanded.* I do not quite
believe in this story, but I do not deny it; and, I dare say,
if it has not already happened, it will happen. The pope,
it is evident, is beginning to pay his debts honourably,
and cancels them with a stroke of his pen. Every
one, however, blesses this deed ; and the more he does
of the like, the more popular will he be. Since the
duke is taken, whether he be alive or dead, no account
need be made of him. Nevertheless, when I hear any
thing certain, you shall have intelligence."
The pope, however, had not yet learnt wholly to
despise the force of promises and oaths. Borgia was
brought back to the Vatican, and treated honourably. It
was supposed at one time that he would be proceeded
against legally : and Machiavelli several times pressed
his government to send him the papers necessary to in-
stitute any accusation on their part. At length, the
duke gave the order to his castellans to surrender the
fortresses in question to the pope, and was set at liberty.
He instantly repaired to Naples, possessed of nothing
more than a sum of money which he had deposited
* There is something in the entrance of these " two murderers," and
their secret conference with the pope, that reminds one of scenes in Shak-
speare, which appear improbable in our days of ceremony and exclusion.
284 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
with the Genoese bankers., but happy in having re-
covered his personal freedom. His ambitious mind
quickly conceived new schemes ; and he tried to per-
suade the Spanish general at Naples, Consalvo, to assist
him in his project of throwing himself into Pisa, and
of defending it against Florence. Consalvo listened
and temporised, till he received the directions of his
sovereign, which he immediately obeyed. In con-
formity with these, Borgia was arrested and sent on
board a galley, which conveyed him to Spain. On his
arrival, he was confined in the fortress of Medina del
^ Campo, there to remain during his life. He continued
a prisoner, however, for two years only. In 1 506, with
great audacity and labour, he let himself down from the
castle by a rope, and fled to the court of John king of
Navarre, who was his wife's brother ; where he lived for
some years in a humble state, the king of France having
confiscated his duchy of Valence, and forbidding him to
enter France. Finally, having gone out with the forces
of the king of Navarre to attack Viana, an insignificant
castle of that kingdom, he was surprised by an ambush,
and killed.
We have anticipated a little, to conclude the history
of this man, who figures so prominently in Machiavelli's
writings, and now return to the secretary himself. We
have not space to dilate with the same minuteness on his
succeeding embassies ; and there is nothing in them of
peculiar interest. His letters are always full of keen
observation; and show him to have been sagacious,
faithful, and diligent. The republic kept him actively
employed ; and the end of one legation was the beginning
of another. He left Rome, after Borgia's arrest, in
1504. December; and, in the January following, went to
JEtat. France^ to ask the protection of Louis against the dangers
which Florence imagined to threaten them from the
Spanish army at Naples. A peace, concluded between
France and Spain, dissipated these fears ; and the secre-
tary, after a month's residence at Lyons, returned to his
own country. After this, he was sent on four insigni-
MACHIAVELLI. 285
ficant missions to Piombino, Perugia, Mantua, and 1505.
Siena. His next employment was to raise troops in -^tat.
the Florentine territories.
Machiavelli was too clear-sighted and well-judging, 1506.
not to perceive the various and great evils that resulted
from the republic engaging condottieri to fight its
battles. He endeavoured to impress upon the signoria
the advantages that would arise from the formation of a
native militia ; and, at length, succeeded. A law was
passed for the enrolling the peasantry, and he was
charged with th« execution. His proceedings were
conducted with patience and industry : his letters con-
tain accounts of the obstacles he met from the prejudices
of the people with whom he had to deal, the pains he
took to obviate them, and the care he was at to select
recruits who might be depended on.
Pope Julius, at this time, had conceived the project of
reducing to obedience to the holy see all those towns which
he considered as rightfully belonging to it. He obtained
promises of aid from France ; demanded it from Flo-
rence ; and then set out on an expedition against Gio-
vanni Bentivoglio, lord of Bologna. The Florentines
were anxious, from economical motives, to defer sending
their quota as long as they could ; and they delegated
their secretary to the court militant of Rome, to make
excuses, and to watch over the progress of its arms.
Machiavelli joined the court at Civita Castellana, and 1506.
proceeded with it to Viterbo, Perugia, Urbino, and
Imola. His letters during this legation are highly
interesting ; presenting a lively picture of the violence
and impetuosity of Julius II., whose resolute and intel-
ligent countenance Raphael has depicted on canvas in so
masterly a manner. When Bentivoglio sent ambassadors
to him, he actually scolded them — addressing them in
public, and using, as the secretary says, the most angry
and venomous expressions. Machiavelli adds : " Every
one believes that, if he succeeds with regard to Bologna,
he will lose no time in attempting greater things ; and
it is hoped that Italy will be preserved from him
286 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
who attempted to devour it (meaning the king of
France). — Now, or never." Bentivoglio made some
preparations to fortify Bologna ; but, on the arrival of
troops from France in aid of his enemy, his heart failed
him. and he entered int6 a treaty, by which he pre-
served his private property ; and then, with his wife
and children, he abandoned the city he had so long
reigned over, and took refuge in the duchy of Milan.
It was apprehended, at this time, that the emperor
Maximilian would enter Italy with an army ; and its
various states sent ambassadors to him, to make favour-
able terms. The emperor had applied to Florence for
money ; and the republic sent Francesco Vettori to treat
concerning the sum. They afterwards sent Machiavelli
1507. with their ultimatum. Both ambassador and secretary
JEtat. remained some time at Trent, waiting on the im-
38> perial court. Machiavelli employed himself in making
observations on the state of the country, which he re-
duced to writing, in a brief " Account of Germany," on
^ ' his return. He had before drawn up a similar account
39. of the state of France.
The favourite object of Florence continued to be the
reduction of Pisa. They purchased permission to attack
it, from the kings of France and Spain, for a large sum
1509. of money. They besieged the town, dividing their
JEtat. army into three divisions, which blockaded it on three
40> sides. The camps were each commanded by commissaries;
and Machiavelli was sent thither to advise with and assist
them. He passed from one camp to the other, to watch
over the execution of the measures concerted for the
siege ; and, at one time, went to Piombino, to meet some
deputies from Pisa, to arrange a treaty ; but it came to
nothing, and he returned to the army. He was much
trusted by his government; and one of the commissaries,
in writing to the signoria, observes, " Niccolo Machia-
velli left us to-day, to review the troops of the other
camp. I have directed him to return here, as you
order ; and I wish for nothing so much as to have him
with me."
MACHIAVELLI. 287
After a blockade of three months, Pisa surrendered.
The Florentine republic behaved with the greatest
generosity and humanity, and kept terms faithfully with
a people who had injured them deeply, and were now
wholly at their mercy.
Late in the same year, Machiavelli was employed to
convey to Mantua the money composing a part of the
subsidy of Florence to the emperor. After having dis-
charged this office, he was ordered to repair to Verona,
" or/' as his instruction's say, " wherever it seems best,
to learn and communicate intelligence of the actual state
of affairs. You will diligently write us word of every
thing that happens worthy of notice, changing the place
of your abode each day." That part of Italy was, at
that time, the seat of a cruel and destructive war carried
on between the emperor and the republic of Venice.
There existed a great spirit of enmity between
Louis XI I. and the pope. Julius II. was a violent and
implacable man : his former suspicions against the
French monarch were changed into excessive hatred.
He was animated, also, by the desire of acquiring the
glory of liberating Italy from the barbarians.* He sent
troops against Genoa, which belonged to the king;
Florence had been unable to refuse a safe passage for
them through their territory : at the same time, fearing
that this concession had offended Louis, they despatched
Machiavelli to make their excuses. His letters, during June,
this mission, disclose a curious system of bribery with 1510.
regard to the ministers of the king. Cardinal d'Amboise ^Etat-
had always shown himself friendly towards the republic ;
but this friendship had been purchased by gold. He
died a month before the arrival of the secretary, who
writes thus to the signoria: — " I had a long convers-
ation with Alessandro Nasi concerning the donations,
that I might understand how I ought to regulate myself
with regard to them. He promised the chancellor
Robertet and the marshal Chaumont d'Amboise to pay
what is due to them, during the ensuing month of
August. He told me, that he did not think that the
* GuicciardinL
288 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN*
10,000 ducats, which were sent here for the cardinal
d'Amboise, and which were not paid, on account of his
death, could be saved for the city, except in one way ;
which was, by distributing them between the chancellor
and marshal, as a portion of what is due to them."
He had an audience with the king at Blois. There
was no Florentine ambassador at this time at the French
court ; Machiavelli was merely an envoy, with his title
of secretary: the king, therefore, treated him with little
ceremony ; but he received him kindly, declaring his
belief in the friendship of Florence, but desiring some
further proof of it. " Secretary," he said, ef I am not
at enmity with the pope, nor any one else ; but as new
friendships and enmities arise each day, I wish your
government to declare at once what they will do in my
favour : and do you write word to them, that I offer all
the forces of this kingdom, and to come in person, to
save their state, if necessary."*
It was a difficult part for Florence, between France
their ancient ally, and the stern vindictive pope. Some
time before, during their difficulties, the republic had
in some degree changed their form of government, and
elected a gonfaloniere or doge for life, instead of
changing every year ; their choice had fallen on Pietro
Soderini, a man of integrity, but feeble and timid. The
king of France, pushed to the utmost by the pope, de-
termined to call together a council, to dethrone him.
Florence offered him the city of Pisa, for it to be held ;
and then, terrified by the menaces of Julius II., sent
1511. Machiavelli to Louis, to endeavour to recall this offer,
^tat- but in vain. The council met, and the secretary was
sent to attend upon it; it came to nothing, however.
Only four cardinals met, they were ill treated by the
people, discountenanced by the Italian clergy, and dis-
satisfied with themselves : after holding two sessions at
Pisa, they transferred themselves to Milan.
* One of Louis's expressions is curious : — "If the pope will make any
demonstration of friendship to me, though no bigger than the black of my
nail, I will respond by a yard." The black of the nail of the king of
France!
MACHIAVELLT. 289
The result of this open attack of Louis upon the power
of the pope animated the latter to renewed endeavours
to expel the king from Italy : he formed a league with
Spain and Venice against the French power, and a dis-
astrous war was the consequence. At one time the
French obtained a victory at Ravenna, which was de-
trimental to them, since Gaston de Foix and 10,000 of
their bravest soldiers were left on the field of battle.
Florence remained neuter during this struggle, but the 1512.
republic was accused of a secret partiality for France, and ^tat>
its punishment was resolved upon at the diet of Mantua. 3*
The Medici family still hovered round Florence,
desirous of reinstating themselves in their ancient seats,
and of reassuming the power enjoyed by their fore-
fathers. Piero de' Medici had fallen in the battle of the
Gariglano, some years before ; he left a son named
Lorenzo, and a daughter, Clarice. His brother the car-
dinal Giovanni had, while he perceived his cause hope-
less, quitted Italy, and visited many parts of France
and Germany, nor returned to Rome till the elevation of
Julius II. : from that time he took an important part
in the public affairs of Italy, and was appointed legate
during the war. His influence was exerted during the
diet of Mantua, and the punishment of Florence was
decreed to consist in the overthrow of the existing
government, and the restoration of the Medici. The de-
tails of the expedition of the allies against the republic are
related by Machiavelli in a private letter, which, though
highly interesting, is too long to extract.* The gonfa-
loniere Soderini exerted some energy at the commence-
ment of the struggle, but was unable to holtl out long.
The army, under the command of the viceroy of Naples,
entered Tuscany, and taking Prato byt assault, massacred
its inhabitants without respect for age or sex. The Flo-
rentines were alarmed by this cruelty, and resolved to
submit, Soderini and his partisans quitted the city and
repaired to Siena, and the Medici entered Florence.
The cardinal was at their head, accompanied by his
* Lettere Familiari, VIIL
VOL. I. U
290 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
younger brother Giuliano, his nephew Lorenzo, son of
Piero, and his cousin Julius de' Medici, descended from
the brother of Cosmo.
Thus fell a government which Machiavelli had served
faithfully for fourteen years. His labours had been great
during this period, the honours he enjoyed of no conspi-
cuous nature, and his emoluments were very slender.
When on his various missions, he was allowed only a
trifling addition to his salary as secretary, which fre-
quently was not commensurate to his increased expen-
diture, and afforded no room for luxury or display.
" It is true," he writes to the signoria from Verona,
" that I spend more than the ducat a day that you
allow me for my expenses ; nevertheless, now, as here-
tofore, I shall be satisfied with whatever you please to
give." There was nothing mercenary in Machiavelli's
disposition, and he seems perfectly content with con-
tinuing in the office he enjoyed, without rising higher.
He went on his legations always in the character of
envoy, at such times when the republic thought it best
to treat by means of a delegate less costly and of less au-
thority than an ambassador. Thus his letters often ask
to be replaced by a minister entrusted with more exten-
sive powers. Evidently, throughout his active career, he
had the good of his country only at heart. He \vas
steady, faithful, and industrious : he recommended
himself to the powers to whom he was sent by his in-
telligence and his want of pretension. Up to the mo-
ment of Soderini's exile, he acted for the Gonfaloniere
and his council. His last office was to gather the militia
together, for the purpose of checking the advance of the
viceroy through the passages of the Apennines. He
was too late, and his forces were too scanty; for Pietro
Soderini, timid and temporising, did not give credit to
the extent of danger that menaced him till the last mo-
ment. His fear of appearing ambitious, and making
himself obnoxious to his fellow citizens, prevented him
from taking those resolute measures necessary for his
safety : but Machiavelli continued faithful to him, till
MACHIAVELLI. 291
the moment he quitted the city. Then he turned his
eyes to the new government and the Medici, who,
though introduced under had auspices, showed no dis-
position to' tyrannise over their fellow-citizens. He was
poor, and had a large family ; and, though a lover of
liberty, was not personally attached to the fallen Gonfalo-
niere. The forms of government continued the same, and
he was still secretary to the Council of Ten. He desired
and expected to continue in office, and to exercise func-
tions, which could not be otherwise than beneficial to his
country.
His hopes were deceived : he was considered by the
Medici as too firm an adherent of the adverse party,
He was deprived of his place, and sentenced not to quit
for one year the territory of the republic, nor to enter
the palace of government. But this was not the end,
it was only the beginning, of his disasters. Shortly
after, the enemies of the Medici conspired against them :
the conspiracy was discovered, and two of the chief
among them were beheaded. Machiavelli was sup-
posed to be implicated in the plot : he was thrown into
prison, and put to the torture. No confession could be
extorted from him, and it is possible that he was entirely
innocent of the alleged crime. He was soon after com-
prised in the act of amnesty published by the new pope.
On the death of Julius II., cardinal de' Medici was
elevated to the pontifical throne ; he assumed the name
of Leo X., and signalised his exaltation by this act of
clemency. On his liberation Machiavelli wrote to his
friend Francesco Vettori, the Florentine ambassador at
the papal court, who had exerted himself in his favour,
in these terms : — " You have heard from Paolo Vettori
that I am come out of prison, to the universal joy of
this city. I will not relate the long story of my mis-
fortunes ; and will only say, that fate has done her
utmost to bring them about ; but, thank God, they are
at an end. I hope to be safe for the future, partly be-
cause I intend to be more cautious, and partly because
the times are more liberal and less suspicious."
u 2
292 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
1513. Francesco Vettori, on hearing of his liberation, had
JEtat. already written,, and their letters crossed on the road.
44. ft Honoured friend," he wrote, f< I have suffered greater
grief during these last eight months than I ever en-
dured during the course of my whole life before : but
the worst was when I knew that you were arrested, as
I feared that, without cause or fault of yours, you would
be put to the torture, as was really the case. I am
sorry that I could not assist you, as you had a right to
expect; but as soon as the pope was created, I asked him
no favour except your liberation, which I am glad to
find had already taken place. And now, dear friend,
I have to entreat you to take heart during this perse-
cution, as you have done on other occasions : and I
hope, as things are now tranquil, and their (the Medici)
good fortune transcends all imagination, that you will
soon be permitted to quit Tuscany. If I remain here,
I wish you would come to me, for as long a time as
you like."
" Rome, 15th of March, 1513.
Machiavelli replies : —
" Your very kind letter has made me forget my past
disasters ; and although I was convinced of the af-
fection you bore me, yet your letter delighted me. I
thank you heartily, and pray God that I may be able
to show my gratitude to your advantage. You may
derive this pleasure from my misfortunes, that I think
well of myself for the courage with which I bore them,
so that I feel myself of more value than I before gave
myself credit for : and if my masters, the magnificent
Giuliano and your Paolo, to whom I owe my life, will
raise me from the earth, I think they will hereafter have
cause to congratulate themselves. If they will not, I
shall live as I have done before ; for I was born poor,
and I learnt to suffer before I learnt to enjoy. If you
remain at Rome, I will spend some time with you, as
you advise. All our friends salute you. Every day we
assemble at some lady's house, so to recover our strength.
MACHIAVELLI. 2Q
Yesterday we went to see the procession in the house of
Sandra di Pero, and thus we pass our time during this
universal rejoicing, enjoying the remnant of life, which
appears to me like a dream. Valete.
" Florence, 18th of March, 1513.
From this time till the end of his life we possess a
series of MachiavellFs private correspondence, of the
most valuable kind. His chief friend was Vettori, who
continued to reside as ambassador at Rome. Some of
their letters are long political discussions, which Vettori
drew Machiavelli in to write, that he might show
them to pope Leo X., and excite him to admire and
employ his talents. His endeavours were without suc-
cess. Machiavelli continued for many years to live in
obscurity, sometimes at Florence, sometimes at his
country-house at San Casciano, a bathing town among
the hills, south of Pisa. His letters from Florence
contain the gossip of their acquaintance, — amusing anec-
dotes that paint the manners, while they give us no
exalted idea of the morals, of the Italians of those days.
Machiavelli himself had no poetry nor delicacy of imagin-
ation : his feelings were impetuous, and his active mind
required some passion or pursuit to fill it. He bitterly
laments the inaction of his life, and expresses an ardent
desire to be employed. Meanwhile, he created occupation
for himself ; and it is one of the lessons that we may
derive from becoming acquainted with the feelings and
actions of celebrated men, to learn that this very period,
during which Machiavelli repined at the neglect of
his contemporaries, and the tranquillity of his life, was
that during which his fame took root, and which brought
his name down to us. He occupied his leisure in
writing those works which have occasioned his immor-
tality. No one would have searched the Florentine
archives for his public correspondence, acute and in-
structive as it is, nor would his private letters now lie
before us, if he had not established a name through his
other writings. He wrote them to bring himself into
u 3
2p4 LITERARY 'AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
present notice, and to show the Medici the worth of
that man whom they dishonoured and neglected.
One of his letters from the country to Vettori, is so
interesting, and so necessary to the appreciation of his
character, that we give it at length : —
ff Tarde non furon mai grazie divine. Divine
favours never come too late. I say this, because it
seemed to me that I had, not lost, but mislaid your
kindness, you having remained so long without writing
to me, that I wondered what might be the cause.
Your last of the 23d dissipated my doubts, and I am
delighted to find how quietly and regularly you fulfil
your office. I advise you to go on thus ; for whoso-
ever neglects his own affairs for those of others, injures
himself and gets no thanks. As fortune chooses to dis-
pose of our lives, let her alone. Do not exert yourself,
but wait till she urges other men to do something, when
it will be time for you to come forward, and for me to
say, Here I am. I cannot thank you in any way except
by giving you an account of my life here ; and you
may see whether it is worth exchanging for yours.
" I remain at my country house ; and since the last
events I have not spent in all twenty days in Florence.
[ have hitherto been killing thrushes. Rising before
day-light I prepared my snares, and set off with a bundle
of cages at my back, so that I resembled Geta, when he
returns from the harbour with Amphytrion's books. I
took two or at most seven thrushes each day.* Thus
passed September, since when, to my great annoyance,
this diversion has failed me ; and my life has been such
as I will now detail. I rise with the sun, and go to a wood
of mine, which I am cutting ; where I remain a couple of
hours, reviewing the work of the past day, and talking
with the woodcutters, who are always in trouble either for
themselves or their neighbours. I have a thousand enter-
taining things to tell you, which have happened with re-
* Machiavelli's bird-catching need not excite surprise. It is the com.
mon pastime of Italian nobles of the present day, to go out with an owl for
a decoy, to shoot larks, thrushes, &c.
MACHIAVELLI. 2Q5
gard to this wood*, between me and Frosino da Panzaro
and others, who wanted to buy some of the wood. Frosino
sent for several loads without saying a word to me ;
and on payment wanted to keep back ten livres, which
he says he ought to have had from me four years ago,
having won it at play, at the house of Antonio Guic-
ciardini. I began to play the devil, and to accuse the
carrier of cheating, on which G. Machiavelli interfered,
and brought us to agree. When the north wind blew,
Battista Guicciardini, Filippo Ginori, Tommaso del
Bene, and several other citizens took a load. I promised
some to all, and sent one to Tommaso, half of which
went to Florence, because he and his wife and children
were there to receive it. So, seeing I gained nothing
by it, I told the others that I had no more wood,
which[made them all very angry, especially Battista, who
numbers this among other state troubles. When I
leave the wood I go to a fountain, where I wateh my
bird nets with a book in hand ; either Dante or Petrarch,
or one of the minor Latin poets — Tibullus, Ovid, or
one similar. I read the accounts of their loves ; I think
of my own, and for a while enjoy these thoughts. Then
I go to the inn on the road side ; I talk with the passers
by ; ask the news of their villages ; I hear many things,
and remark on the various tastes and fancies of men.
Meanwhile the hour of dinner arrives, and I dine with
my family on such food as my poor house and slight
patrimony afford. When I have dined, I return to
the inn ; where I usually find the host, a butcher, a
miller, and two kiln men : with these I associate for the
rest of the day, playing at cricca and tric-trac. We
have a thousand squabbles ; angry words are used, often
* Critics have given themselves the trouble to imagine and explain a
mysterious meaning here, and to suppose that Machiavelji's wood is an
allegory of the political labyrinth : but there is no foundation for this idea.
Machiavelli never recurred to allegory to express his political opinions;
and we have twenty letters of his to Vettori, discussing the intentions an d
enterprises of the various European princes, without any attempt at mys-
tery or covert allusion. At the same time we have also twenty letters full
of anecdotes as insignificant as those of the wood. He was fond of minute
details, and lively, though trifling, stories concerning himself and hU
friends.
u 4
296 LITERARY ^ND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
about a farthing,'and we wrangle so loudly, that you might
hear us at San Casciano. Immersed in this vulgarity,
I exhaust my spirits, and give free course to my evil
fortune ; letting her tread me thus under foot, with the
hope that she will at last become ashamed of herself.
" When evening comes I return home, and shut
myself up in my study. Before I make my appearance
in it, I take off my rustic garb, soiled with mud and dirt,
and put on a dress adapted for courts or cities. Thus
fitly habited I enter the antique resorts of the ancients ;
where, being kindly received, I feed on that food which
alone is mine, and for -which I was born. For an in-
terval of four hours I feel no annoyance ; I forget every
grief, I neither fear poverty nor death, but am totally
immersed. As Dante says, f No one learns a science
unless he remembers what he is taught ; ' so have I
noted down that store of knowledge which I have col-
lected from this conversation ; and have composed a
little work on princely governments, in which I analyse
the subject as deeply as I can, discussing what a prin-
cipality is ; how many kinds there are ; in what way
they are acquired ; how kept ; how lost : and if any
devise of mine ever pleased you, this will not be dis-
pleasing. It ought to be acceptable to princes, and
chiefly to a new prince, wherefore I address it to
Giuliano de' Medici. Filippo Casavecchia has seen it,
and can describe the thing to you, and recount the dis-
cussions we have had together about it. I am still adding
to and polishing it.
cc Your excellency desires that I should leave this
place to go and enjoy myself with you. I will do so
assuredly ; but am detained by some affairs, which will
keep me here about seven weeks. The only thing that
causes me to hesitate is, that the Soderini are in your
town ; and I should be obliged to see and visit them ;
and I should be afraid on my return that, instead of
alighting at my own door, I should alight at the gates
of the prison; because, although our person here (Giu-
liano de' Medici) has secure foundation, and is fixed, yet
MACHIAVELLI. 297
he is new and suspicious ; and there are not wanting
meddling fellows, like Paolo Bertini, who would draw
upon others and leave me all the trouble. Preserve
me from this fear, and I will certainly come to you.
" I have talked with Philip concerning my little work,
whether I shall dedicate it or not ; and if I do, whether
I shall present it myself, or send it to you. If I do
not dedicate it, I fear that Giuliano will not even read
it, but that Ardinghelli will get the honour of it. Ne-
cessity drives me to present it, for I pine away, and
cannot remain long thus without becoming despicable
through poverty. I wish these signori Medici would
begin to make use of me, even if I commenced by rolling
a stone, for if I did not afterwards gain their favour I
should despise myself. And, therefore, if this book
were read, they would see that, for the fifteen years
during which 1 studied the arts of government, I neither
slept nor played ; and every one ought to be glad to
make use of one who has learned experience at the ex-
pense of others. Nor need they doubt my fidelity ; for
having proved myself trustworthy hitherto, I would
not alter now : he who has been faithful for forty- three
years, as I have, cannot change his nature ; and my
poverty is a witness of my honour and disinterestedness.
" I wish you would tell me what you think on these
matters, and so farewell. — Si felix.
" NICCOLO MACHIAVELLI.
" 10th of December, 1513."
The expressions in this letter appear sufficiently
clear, that he wrote " The Prince," for the purpose of
recommending himself to the Medici, and of being
employed by them. His sons afterwards declared to
our countryman, cardinal Pole, that he alleged his in-
tention to be, to induce the Medici to render them-
selves so hateful to Florence, by acting on the maxims
he laid down, as to cause them to be exiled anew.
There is no trace of this idea in his private corre-
spondence. Giuliano de' Medici was an amiable prince,
298 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
and he often praises him highly. It is true that his
work is dedicated to Lorenzo de' Medici ; but this
change was occasioned by the death of Giuliano. And
even of Lorenzo, who was unpopular, Machiavelli
writes thus to Vetlori : — f ( I must give you some ac-
count of the proceedings of the Magnifico Lorenzo,
which have hitherto been such as to fill the city with
hope ; so that every one begins to see his grandfather
revived in him. He is diligent and affable, and causes
himself to be loved and respected, rather than feared."
Nor can it be believed that Machiavelli was so devoid of
understanding, as to fancy that he could dupe men as
intelligent as Leo X. and cardinal Julius, who were the
heads of the family, by so barefaced an artifice. Be-
sides that, the authority of the Medici was maintained
by foreign arms, and the citizens were already very
willing to get rid of them, as was proved a very few
years after. Yet his real intentions form a question,
perhaps, never to be decided. On one hand, the treatise
is so broad and unplausible in its recommendations, that
it is difficult to suppose him in earnest ; and, on the
other, it is so dry, and has in so small a degree the air
of irony, that it can scarcely be regarded as a satire. If
it is, it is ill done, since men have not yet agreed
whether it is one or not.
Let us turn to the work itself, however, and present
some analysis of a treatise which has been the subject
of so much disquisition. Machiavelli, in the letter
given above, professes to have written his book for the
instruction of new princes, — principi nuovi, — sove-
reigns lately raised to power. Italy was then divided
into small states, governed by a variety of lords. Some-
times one among them endeavoured, like Caesar Borgia,
to conquer a number of these, and to unite them into
one state. Machiavelli taught how a prince thus situ-
ated might acquire and confirm his power. He adduces
the example of the Duke of Valence, saying, " He does
not know how to give better precepts to a new sovereign
MACHIAVELLI. 299
than those afforded by a view of Borgia's conduct." *
He describes the course of his policy, applauds the per-
fidy with which he destroyed the confederates of Magione,
and holds up the death of Ramiro d' Oreo as a laudable
proceeding. He allows, that perseverance in cruelty
on the part of a prince becomes unendurable. " And,
therefore/' he says, " a prince should determine to
execute all his acts of blood at once, so that he may
not be obliged each day to renew them ; but give
security to his subjects, and gain them by benefits.
Injuries ought to be done at once, because thus they
are less felt, and offend less ; but benefits ought to be
bestowed gradually, that they may produce a profounder
impression."
The reader may judge whether this maxim is saga-
cious, and seriously enjoined; or mischievous, and there-
fore brought forward with sinister and sarcastic motives.
The first fourteen chapters are taken up by consider-
ing the various modes by which a prince acquires
power — either by force of arms, or the favour of the
citizens ; being imposed on them by the aristocracy, or
raised by the affection of the people. In the course of these
considerations he remarks (chap, v.), that " he who be-
comes master of a city habituated to freedom, and does
not destroy it, must expect to be destroyed by it; because
it will, in every rebellion, take refuge in the name of
liberty and its ancient rights, the memory of which can
never be extinguished by time or benefits." The fif-
teenth chapter is headed, — " Concerning those things
for which men, and principally sovereigns are praised
or blamed." He begins by saying, — " It now remains
to be seen what government and treatment a prince
ought to observe with his subjects and friends. I know
many people have written on this topic; and I ex-
pect, therefore, to be accused of presumption, in differ-
* When Leo X. formed a duchy, of which he made his nephew
Lorenzo duke, Machiavelli, in a private letter to Vettori, discusses the
government that he ought to adopt In this letter he again adduces, the
example of Cajsar Borgia, saving, that were he a new prince, he would
imitate all his proceedings. This of course only alludes to the civil go.
vernment of Romagna, which was equitable and popular.
300 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
ing from the opinions of others in my view of the
subject. ^But, it being my intention to write what is
useful to those who rule, it appears to me better to
follow up the truth of things, than to bring forward
imaginary ideas." He adds, " A man who, instead of
acting for the best, acts as he ought, seeks rather his
ruin than his preservation. For he who resolves on all
occasions to adhere to what is virtuous, must be de-
stroyed by the many who are not virtuous. Hence it
is necessary that a prince, who would maintain his
power, should learn not to be virtuous, but to adapt the
morality of his actions to the dictates of necessity." He
then enumerates the good and bad qualities for which
sovereigns are distinguished, and adds : — "I know
that every one will confess that it would be laudable
for a prince to possess all the above-mentioned qualities,
which are considered virtuous ; but human nature does
not allow of this. It is necessary, however, thathe should
be prudent, and avoid the infamy of those vices which
would deprive him of power ; and it would be well if
he avoided the others also, if it were possible ; but if it
be not possible, he may yield to them with less danger.
And also he must not hesitate to incur the reputation
of those vices, through which his government may
be preserved ; for, on deep consideration, it will be
found that there is a line of conduct which appears
right, but which leads to ruin : and there is another
which appears vicious, but from which security and
prosperity flow."
And this is what is called Machiavelian policy.
He goes on to show, that generosity, which is sup-
ported by extortion, must injure a prince more than
parsimony, which makes no demands on the subject;
he therefore advises a prince to gain a character for
liberality, rather by being prodigal of the wealth of
others than his own. " For," he says, " nothing con-
sumes itself so much as liberality ; for while you use it,
you lose your power of so doing, and you become poor
and despicable ; or, to escape from poverty, grow rapa-
MACHIAVELLI. 301
cious and odious. A prince ought carefully to guard
against becoming odious and contemptible : and liber-
ality is one of the good qualities most likely to lead to
this result, and therefore to be avoided."
He then treats of " Cruelty and clemency, and whether
it is better to be feared or loved." He says; — ]" Every
sovereign ought to desire to be esteemed merciful, and
not cruel. Nevertheless, he ought to take care to what
use he puts his mercy. C*sar Borgia was considered cruel;
nevertheless his cruelty subdued Romagna, and united
it, and reduced it to peace and obedience. A prince,
therefore, ought not to fear the reputation of cruelty,
if by it he preserves his subjects tranquil and faithful.
A few examples will be more merciful than tolerating
disorders, through a compassion, which gives rise to
assassinations and disturbances ; for these injure the
community, while the execution of offenders is injurious
to individuals only." He then enters on a discussion
of whether it is better for a prince to be loved or feared.
He decides for the latter ; for, he says, C( Love is a
duty, which, as men are wicked, is continually trans-
gressed ; but fear arises from the dread of punishment,
which is never lost sight of." Nothing can be more false
than this. Men like to be benefited even more than
they dislike being injured ; and love is a more universal
passion than terror. He continues, " Still a prince, while
he seeks to be feared, must avoid being hated — for fear
is very distinct from hatred. And he ought always to
avoid seizing on the goods of his subjects. He may, as
far as is justified by the cause given, proceed against
the life of an individual ; but let him not touch the
possessions. For men more easily forget the death of
a father than the loss of patrimony." After stating
this diabolical and false maxim in all its native deformity,
he proceeds to consider the propriety of a sovereign's
preserving his good faith : remarking, that though good
faith and integrity are praiseworthy in a prince, expe-
rience in his own time shows those statesmen to have
achieved the greatest things, who held truth in small
302 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
esteem : — " For there are two ways of acting, — one by
law and the other by force ; the one for men, the other
for animals ; but when the first does not succeed, it is
necessary to have recourse to the second ; and a sove-
reign ought to know how to put the animal man to
good use. A prudent prince cannot and ought not to
observe faith, when such observance would injure
him, or the occasions for which he pledged himself are
at an end. A sovereign, therefore, need not possess
all the virtues I have mentioned ; but it is necessary
that he should appear so to do. A prince cannot al-
ways practise the qualities which are esteemed good,
being often obliged to maintain his power by acting
against the dictates of humanity and religion. He must
act conscientiously when he can ; but when obliged, he
ought to be capable of doing ill. A prince ought to take
great care not to say a word that is not animated by good
feeling, and he ought to appear full of pity, integrity,
humanity, and religion ; and there is nothing so neces-
sary as that he should appear to attend to the last.
Every one sees what you seem ; few know what you are."
Very false, notwithstanding its plausibility : children
even have an instinct for detecting false appearances.
He tells princes to cherish the affections of the people;
as, he says, if loved by his subjects, he need fear no
conspiracy ; but, hated by them, he has every thing to
dread. He avers, also, that it is easier for a newly
raised prince to make friends of those who opposed him,
than to preserve the good will of his own partisans. He
goes on to give much advice concerning the choice of
ministers and courtiers, and concerning the influence of
fortune over states ; and shows how concord and con-
stancy are the only modes by which a government can
preserve itself during the variations of fortune; and
that, above all, it is necessary not to submit timidly, but
to command her by audacity and resolution.
He concludes by an exhortation to the Italians to
drive the barbarians, French, Spaniards, and Germans,
from their country. " It appears to me," he says,
MACHIAVELLI. 303
ff considering all things, that there is an admirable
opening for a new prince to introduce another state of
things into Italy. Does not the whole land pray God
to send her some one to free her from the barbarians ?
And is she not ready to follow any banner, if some one
prince would display it ? Nor do we see any house from
which she can hope so much as yours (that of Lorenzo
de Medici) favoured as it is by God and the church ;
being at the head of which, it may lead us to this re-
demption. The justice of your cause is great, and the war
will be just, and necessary, and pious. God, also, has
opened the way for you. The Italians, however, must
accustom themselves to the exercise of arms; if they
would defend their country from foreign invaders. The
infantry of other kingdoms have their defects : the
Spaniards cannot stand the impetus of cavalry ; the
Swiss would fear any infantry which should show itself
as strong as themselves. Let the Italians, therefore,
form an army of foot that shall possess none of these
defects, and which shall be able to resist the shock of
both horse and foot ; and this must be done by a novel
style of command, by introducing which, a new ruler
will acquire reputation and power. You ought not,
therefore, to lose this opportunity of appearing as the
deliverer of Italy. I cannot express with what affection
such a one would be received in those provinces which
have suffered from the inundation of foreign troops;
with what thirst of vengeance, what resolute fidelity ;
with what piety, and what grateful tears he would be
followed. What gates would be shut against him?
what people would refuse to render him obedience ?
what Italian would hesitate to submit to his rule ?
Every one abhors the authority of the barbarians. Let,
therefore, your illustrious house assume this enterprise,
animated by that hope which a just cause inspires, so
that your country may rise triumphant under your
auspices."
There is nothing that is not patriotic and praise-
worthy in these exhortations ; and they were such, more-
304 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
over, as were likely to gain the hearts of the Italians.
If, therefore, he is previously sarcastic, he is serious
here ; and the mixture renders still more enigmatic the
question of the aim he had in view in this work.
Besides ff The Prince," Machiavelli wrote, at this
time, his " Essays on the first Decade of Livy." These
are considered by their author as his best work ; an
opinion confirmed by the learned Italians of the present
day. They breathe a purely republican spirit, and have
for their scope to demonstrate how the greatness of
Rome resulted from the equal laws of the common-
wealth, and the martial character of its citizens. He
dedicated them to his friends Zanobi Buondelmonte,
and Cosimo Rucellai, who were the patrons of the aca-
demy of the Rucellai gardens, a society set on foot by
the father of Cosimo, for the support of the Platonic
philosophy, and whose youthful followers were all de-
voted to liberty.
" The Art of War" was also written at this time, as
well as his two comedies, his " Belfegor," and fe Life of
Castruccio Castracani." The " Belfegor" has laid him
open to the supposition that he was not happy in his
married life : but there is no foundation for this notion.
He was, early in life, married to Marietta Corsini, and
had five children. He always mentions his wife with
affection and respect in his letters, and gives tokens, in
his will, of the perfect confidence he reposed in her.
"Belfegor" has always been a popular tale: it is
written with great spirit, and possesses the merit of
novelty and wit. His comedies are thought highly of
by the Italians. The " Mandragola," licentious as it
is, was a great favourite. Leo X. caused the actors and
scenic decorations to be brought from Florence to Rome,
that he might see it represented ; and Guicciardini in-
vited the author to come to get it up at Modena, and
tells him to bring with him a favourite singer and act-
ress, named La Barbara, to give it more effect : so early
in Italian history do we find mention of prime donne,
and of the court paid to them.
MACHIAVELLI. 305
But all this diligent authorship did not satisfy the
active mind of Machiavelli : he tried to school himself
to content, and says, in one of his letters to Vettori, " 1
am arrived at not desiring any thing again with passion."
But this was a deceit which he practised on himself. " If
I saw you," he writes again to his friend, " I should fill
your head with castles in the air ; because fortune has so
arranged, that, not being able to discourse concerning the
silk trade, nor the woollen trade, nor of gains nor losses,
I must talk of the art of government." — " While I
read and re-read your disquisitions on politics, I for-
get my adversity, and appear to have entered again on
those public affairs, in prosecuting which I vainly en-
dured so much fatigue, and spent so much time."
The endeavours of Vettori,whowas attached to the Me-
dici, to gain favour for his friend with Leo X., were long
ineffectual; and Machiavelli showed symptoms of despair.
" It seems," he writes, " that I am to continue in my 1514.
hole, without finding a man who will remember my ^Etat.
services, or believe that I can be good for any thing. It 45<
is impossible that I can remain long thus. I pine away ;
and see that, if God will not be more favourable to me,
I shall be obliged to leave my home, and become secre-
tary to some petty officer, if I can do nothing else ; or
exile myself into some desert to teach children to read.
I shall feign that I am dead ; and my family will get on
much better without me ; as I am the cause of expense —
being accustomed to spend, and unable to do otherwise.
I do not write this to induce you to take trouble for my
sake ; but to ease my mind, so as not to recur again to
so odious a subject."
Yet all his letters are not complaining. The spirit
of (< Belfegor " and " La Mandragola " animates many of
them. "We are now grave," he writes, " and now fri-
volous ; but we ought not to be blamed for this variety,
as in it we imitate nature, which is full of change."
The first use to which the Medici put him, was when 1519.
Leo X. had placed the cardinal Julius over Florence, &***.
and wished to remodel the government. He addressed 5a
VOL. i. x
306 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
himself to Machiavelli for his advice ; and the latter
wrote, in reply, his e< Essay on the Reform of the Go-
vernment of Florence, Written at the request of Leo X."
Soon after Leo died, and the cardinal Julius expected to
have been elected pope. He was disappointed, and re-
turned to Florence to confirm his authority. The death
of Leo awakened the hopes of the opposite party ; and
a conspiracy was at this juncture entered into by the
nephew of the gonfaloniere Soderini and the young phi-
losophers of the Rucellai, to expel the Medici. It was
discovered ; two ringleaders were put to death,,and the
rest fled.
Sis-mondi hastily assumes the fact, that Machiavelli
was implicated in this plot ; but, on the contrary, there
seems every proof that he took no part in it whatever ;
and at this very time he was again employed by the
1521. reigning powers. The Minor Friars were assembled in
^Etat. chapter at Carpi, in the duchy of Modena. The go-
5-' vernment of Florence wished to obtain from them, that
their republic should be formed by their order, into a
distinct province, separated from the rest of Tuscany.
At the instance of cardinal Julius, Machiavelli was
charged with this negotiation. A few days after his
arrival at Carpi, the council of the company of the
woollen trade commissioned him to procure a good
preacher for the metropolitan church at Florence, during
the ensuing Lent. His letters to his employers, on these
occasions, are as serious and methodical as during any
other legation; but in his heart he disdained the petty
occupation. His friend Francesco Guicciardini, the cele-
brated historian, was then governor of Modena ; and
several amusing letters passed between them while Machi-
avelli was at Carpi. Guicoiardini writes: "When I read
your titles of ambassador to republics and friars, and
consider the number of kings and princes with whom
you have formerly negotiated, I am reminded of Ly-
sander, who, after so many victories, had the office of
distributing provisions to the army he had formerly corn-
mantled ; and I say that, though the aspects of men,
MACHIAVELLI. 30?
and the exterior appearances of things, are changed, the
same circumstances perpetually return, and we witness
no event that did not take place in times gone by."
Machiavelli replies with greater gaiety : — "I can
tell you that, on the arrival of your messenger, with
a bow to the ground, and a declaration that he was
sent express and in haste, every one arose with so many
bows and so much clamour, that all things seemed
turned topsy-turvy. Many persons asked me the news ;
and I, to increase my importance, said that the emperor
was expected at Trent, that the Swiss were assembling a
new diet, and that the king of France was going to have
an interview with the king of England ; so that all stood
open-mouthed and cap in hand to hear me. I am sur-
rounded by a circle now, while writing, who, seeing me
occupied upon so long a letter, wonder and regard me as
one possessed ; and I, to excite their surprise, pause now
and then, and look very wise ; and they are deceived. If
they knew what I was writing, their wonder would in
crease. Pray send one of your men again ; and let him
hurry, and arrive in a heat, so that these people may
be more and more astonished ; for thus you will do me
honour, and the exercise will be good for the horse at
this season of the year. I would now write you a longer
letter, if I were willing to tire out my imagination; but
I wish to preserve it fresh for to-morrow. Remember
me, and farewell.
" Your servant,
" NICCOLO MACCHIAVELLI,
ft Ambassador to the Minor Friars.
" Carpi, 17th of May, 1521."
This letter, as well as well as one of Guicciardini's on
this occasion, has been mutilated by a person, whose
scrupulous good taste was offended by the tone of some
of the pleasantries. That was not the age of decorum
either in speech or action.
The cardinal Julius had commissioned Machiavelli 1524.
to write the history of Florence, and he proceeded in it
x 2
308 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
as far as the death of Lorenzo de' Medici. He writes
to Guicciardini, on the 30th of August, 1524, " I am
staying in the country, occupied in writing my history ;
and I would give fivepence — I will not say more — to have
you here, that I might show you where I am, as in certain
particulars I wish to know whether you would be of-
fended most by my elevated or humble manner of treat-
ing them. I try, nevertheless, to write so as, by telling
the truth, to displease no one."
1526. Cardinal Julius had now become pope, under the
^tat- title of Clement VII. He paid Machiavelli a regular but
51 ' very limited salary as historiographer. Having brought
it down to the time of the death of Lorenzo de' Medici,
he made a volume of it, and dedicated it to the pope.
On this occasion he writes to Guicciardini, " I have re-
ceived a gratification of 100 ducats for my history. I
am beginning again ; and relieve myself by blaming the
princes who have done every thing they can to bring
us to this pass." He signs himself to this letter, Niccolo
Machiavelli, historian, comic and tragic author, — isto-
rico, comico, et tragico.
The condition of Italy was at this period most de
plorable. The French had been driven from Italy after
the battle of Pavia ; but no sooner was that power hum-
bled, than the various states began to regard with alarm
the ascendency of the emperor Charles V. A confede-
racy was formed by the chief among them, for the pur-
pose of holding this powerful monarch in check ; and
he sent the constable Bourbon to Milan to preserve that
duchy. Thus there were two armies in the heart of
the peninsula, both unpaid, both lawless, and destructive
to friends as well as to enemies. The emperor sent no
supplies to Bourbon ; and the pope, who was at the head
of the Italian league, showed himself so timid and vac-
cillating, and, above all, so penurious, as to bring down
ruin on his cause.
Bourbon was unable to keep his troops together, ex-
cept by promises of plunder ; and he led them south-
ward by slow advances, with the intention of enriching
MACHIAVELLI. 309
them by the sack of Florence or Rome. The danger was
nearest to the former city; and Clement VII. considered
it requisite to put it in a state of defence. Machiavelli
was employed to inspect the progress of the fortifications.
He executed his task diligently, and, as was his wont,
put his whole heart and soul into his occupation. " My
head is so full of bulwarks," he says, " that nothing
else will enter it."
The imperial army continued to advance ; and the
Florentine government, in great alarm, sent Machiavelli
to Guicciardini, governor of Modena, and lieutenant-ge-
neral of the papal forces, to take measures with regard
to the best method of securing the republic ; and it was
agreed that, if the imperialists advanced, the forces of
the church should be sent in aid of Florence. The
winter season and other circumstances delayed the
operations of the imperialists, but early in the following
spring the danger grew imminent. Bourbon had arrived 1527.
with his army to the vicinity of Bologna ; and there -^Etot.
was every likelihood that his army would traverse Tus- 58*
cany, and attack Florence itself. Machiavelli again went
to Parma, to advise with Guicciardini, to watch over
the movements of the hostile army, and to send fre-
quent intelligence to Florence of their proceedings.
The republic wished that the troops of the Italian league
should assemble at Bologna, and be on the spot to guard
the frontiers of Tuscany.
The imperialists continued to advance: the pope,
alarmed by their progress, entered into a treaty for
peace with the emperor ; but it was uncertain whether
the army under Bourbon would agree to it. Machi-
avelli continued for some weeks at Parma, and then
accompanied Guicciardini to Bologna, watching their
movements. It was doubtful what road they would
take on proceeding to Rome ; but the chances still
were, that they would pass through Tuscany. The
army now removed to Castel San Giovanni, ten miles
from Bologna, where they remained some days, detained
by the bad weather, and overflowing of the low lands,
310 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
caused by the melting of the snow, which had fallen
heavily around Bologna : they were in danger, while thus
forced to delay, of being reduced to great straits for want
of provisions. " If this weather lasts two days longer,"
Machiavelli wrote to his government, " the duke of Fer-
rara may, sleeping and sitting, put an end to the war."
A truce was concluded between Clement VII. and
the ministers of Charles V. ; but it was not acceded
to by Bourbon and his army. The pope, however,
unaware of this circumstance, dismissed his troops, and
remained wholly unguarded. The imperialists, ren-
dered unanimous through the effects of hunger and
poverty, continued to advance. They entered Tuscany ;
but, without staying to attack Florence, they hurried on
by forced marches and falling unexpectedly on Rome,
took it by assault ; and that dreadful sack took place,
which filled the city with death and misery, and spread
alarm throughout Italy. Machiavelli followed the Italian
army, as it advanced to deliver the pope, who was be-
sieged in the Castel Sant' Angelo. From the environs of
Rome he repaired to Civita Vecchia, where Andrea Doria
commanded a fleet ; and from him he obtained the means
of repairing by sea to Leghorn. Before embarking, he
received intelligence of the revolution of Florence. On
hearing of the taking of Rome, on the 6th of May, the
republicans* rose against the Medici; and they were
forced to quit the city. The government was changed
on the 16th of May, and things were restored to the
state they were in 1512.
Machiavelli returned to Florence full of hope. He
considered that the power was now in the hands of his
friends, and that he should again enter on public life
under prosperous auspices. His hopes were disappointed
— public feeling was against him : his previous services,
his imprisonment and torture, were forgotten ; while it
was remembered that, since 15 13, he had been continually
aiming at getting employed by the Medici, against
whom the popular feeling was violently excited. He had
succeeded at last ; and was actually in their service,
MACHIAVELLI. 311
when they were driven from the city. These circum-
stances rendered him displeasing to men who considered
themselves the deliverers of their country. Machiavelli
was disappointed hy their neglect, and deeply wounded
by their distrust. He fell ill ; and taking some pills, to
which he was in the habit of having recourse when
indisposed, he grew worse, and died two days after — on
the 22d of June, 152? — in the 59th year of his age.
Paul Jovius, his old enemy, insinuates that he took
the medicine for the sake of destroying himself, — a
most clumsy sort of suicide, — but there is no founda-
tion whatever for this report.* His wife Marietta, the
daughter of Ludovico Corsini, survived him ; and he
left five children, — four sons and one daughter. He had
made a will in 1511, when secretary of the republic;
and in 1522 he made another, which only differs in
details — the spirit is the same. He leaves his " beloved
wife" an addition to her dower, and divides the rest
of his slight fortune between his children. Marietta
is left guardian and trustee of the younger children — to
continue till they were nineteen — with a clause for-
bidding them to demand any account of money spent ;
and mentions that he reposes entire confidence in her.
Machiavelli was of middle stature, rather thin,
and of olive complexion. He was gay in conversation,
obliging with his friends, and fond of the arts. He had
readiness of wit; and it is related of him, that, being re-
proved for the maxims of his " Prince," he replied — " If
I taught princes how to tyrannise, I also taught the
people how to destroy them." He probably developes in
these words, the secret of his writings. He was willing
* He had before recommended these pills to Guicciardini, saying that he
himself never took more than two at a time. They are chiefly composed
of aloes. There is a letter from his son Pietro to Francesco Nelli, pro-
fessor at Pisa, which relates concisely the manner of his death : —
" Dearest Francesco, — I cannot refrain from tears on being obliged to
inform you of thedeath of our father Niccolb, which took place on the 22d of
this month, of colic, produced by a medicine which he took on the £0th.
He allowed himself to be confessed byJrate Matteo, who remained with
him till his death. Our father has left us in the greatest poverty, as you
know. When you return here, I will tell you many things by word of mouth.
I am in haste, and will say no more than farewell.
" Your relation,
" PIETRO M&CHIAVELLI."
312 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
to teach both parties, but his heart was with the repub-
licans. He was buried at the church of Santa Croce at
Florence ; and soon after his death a violent sensation
was created against his works — principally through an
attack on the f( Prince/' by our own countryman, car-
dinal Pole. They were interdicted by successive popes,
and considered to contain principles subversive of re-
ligion and humanity.
It was not till the lapse of more than two centuries
that a re-action of feeling took place — and the theory
was brought forward, that he wrote for the sake of in.
ducing the Medici to render themselves odious to their
countrymen, so as to bring ruin and exile again on
their house. In 1782, the Florentines were induced by
the representations of an English nobleman, lord
Cowper, to pay honour to their countryman, and set on
foot a complete edition of his works ; which Leopold,
grand duke of Tuscany, permitted to be printed ; and
which was preceded by an eulogium written by Baldelli.
In 1787, a monument was erected over his remains,
on which was carved the following inscription : —
Tanto Nomini nullum par Elogium
NICOLAUS MACHIAVELLI.
Obiit Anno A. P. V. MDXXVII.
There remains no descendant of Machiavelli. His
grandson, by his only daughter, Giuliano Ricci, left
several writings relative to his illustrious ancestor, which
are preserved in the archives of the Ricci family. The
branch of the Machiavelli, descending from the secretary,
terminated in Ippolita Machiavelli, married to Francesco
de' Ricci in 1608. The other branch terminated in Fran-
cesco Maria, Marchese di Quinto in the Vicentino, who
died in Florence, 1726.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME..
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